


Lips that would kiss

by Avelera



Series: Prayers to Broken Stone [3]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Possession, Anal Sex, Angst, Body Worship, Bondage, Bottom Thorin, Despair, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, Hand Jobs, Healing Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Massage, Mental Breakdown, Missing Scene, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possession, Requited Love, Romance, Sub Thorin, Throne Sex, Transformation, dragon Thorin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-11 16:24:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3331430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avelera/pseuds/Avelera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The missing sex scenes of "Prayers to Broken Stone", aka "four sex scenes that happened in a parallel timeline, and one that happened in both."</p><p>Takes place in the universe of "Prayers to Broken Stone," in which a literal dragon sickness has taken hold of Thorin, eating away at his body as well as his sanity as he slowly transforms into the creature he hates most in the world. Meanwhile, Bilbo tries desperately to help him hold on and find a cure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alternate Ch. 9

**Author's Note:**

> When I first conceived of "Prayers to Broken Stone" I intended the story to contain mature themes including sex scenes. However, the flow of the story, as well as my own unfamiliarity with writing smut, made me give up on this version in favor of a sex-scene free version of the story. Feedback from various readers who appreciated their lack further confirmed my decision to keep smut out of the story. However, I did also receive feedback from people who were interested in these never-written sex scenes. Now with the time and space needed to write them (smut takes forever for me, and the time taken would have interrupted the posting flow of the original story), as well as more practice at writing such scenes, I can now present to you the "missing" sex scenes from "Prayers to Broken Stone." Though I say "missing" in quotes because really these scenes occupy a parallel timeline in which intimacy sprang up much sooner between Thorin and Bilbo and therefore does not clearly segue back into the canon, as the time it took them to admit loving each other is integral to the plot of the original story. 
> 
> Understanding this fic requires reading "Prayers to Broken Stone" or I'm fairly certain you will be hopelessly lost. Chapter 1 of "Lips that would kiss" is an alternate scene to ch. 9 of "Prayers to Broken Stone", so you need only have read that far to understand what's happening here.
> 
> I was blessed with so many great beta reader offers for this fic, so I'd like to give a shout-out to all of them for their generous help: adventurouskitten, farahsilver, thebakerstboyskeeper, indigoire, and green-chick. Thank you so much for your time and effort, I could not have done it without you.
> 
> I wrote this chapter while listening to the song "Home" by Daughter, which I highly recommend as a mood piece of sorts. Long author's note out of the way, please enjoy!

Is it like this  
In death's other kingdom  
Waking alone  
At the hour when we are  
Trembling with tenderness  
Lips that would kiss  
Form prayers to broken stone.

 - _The Hollow Men_ , by T.S Eliot

* * *

The healing salve was cool against his fevered skin, stroked in feathery, soothing circles around the outbreak of scales along his spine. Thorin leaned into the touch despite himself, the muscles of his jaw relaxing as peace washed through him. The scales had not spread further this time as he slept, and were limited to patches on his forearms, chest, and calves, along with the short ridge of spines along his back and slash mark on his left cheek. Yet the discomfort of the transformation was lessened now that he was fed and washed, growing more distant with each stroke of Bilbo’s fingers along his back, rubbing ointment into the seam between skin and scales in hopes of slowing the breakage.

Compared to the scales, the sensitivity of his natural skin felt heightened, and each brush of Bilbo's fingertips sent shivers through him like ripples over water. There was care in the touch of his hand, though Thorin did not dare consider there could be anything else. He only dreamed of it in the concealment of his thoughts, that perhaps more had brought Bilbo here than simple concern, that his blushes and stuttering at the sight of Thorin half-clothed as he went to bathe had been for some reason other than disgust.

Impossible fantasies. Desire was unthinkable, though he may manage to convince himself that friendship was not beyond possibility. Surely if Bilbo did not at least view him as a companion, he would not be down here in the first place. Yet the offer of help, the gentle touch on his skin, and Bilbo’s blush at the sight of him were all threatening to coalesce into something more in Thorin’s mind. If he had such feelings for another dwarf, it would be a straightforward matter to make his regard known. Yet, he knew from his long exile that other races were not so, and to express his interest where none was reciprocated would be a sure way to lose even the possibility of friendship.

So Thorin remained silent, his eyelids fluttering closed. His mind drifted, the warmth of the fire and the drift of soft hands over his skin taking him elsewhere. With no escape from the disease, and little likelihood he would see the sun ever again, let alone another year, Thorin allowed himself a moment’s selfishness within his own mind. That this could go elsewhere, that Bilbo’s hand may drift lower, slick and seeking, and the play of the firelight behind Thorin’s eyelids conjured scenes of where such teasing may lead.

His iron self-control eased, only a little, and Thorin released a gusting sigh, the stiffness fading from his shoulders. Behind it breathed the faintest echo of the moan that was the result of his imaginings. He would have thought nothing of it, certain he had been discreet, yet a shiver ran through Bilbo at the sound and his hands stopped their movement, coming to rest on Thorin’s hips.

Only then did it occur to Thorin that this had gone on far longer than was strictly necessary to spread the ointment to the afflicted portions of his skin. Sweat prickled at Thorin’s forehead and his breathing had deepened in relaxation, so that snapping free of his thoughts was like waking from a dream.

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo said with a nervous laugh. “This is rather intimate, isn’t it? I must have gotten carried away.” Yet his hands did not move from their place. “I should probably stop?”

There was something in Bilbo’s tone that fit far too well with Thorin’s daydreaming, as if he was as unwilling to cease as Thorin was to lose his touch. Thorin cleared his throat, his voice thick when he spoke. “There is no need, unless you wish to.”

“Oh.” Bilbo paused. His right fingers drummed against Thorin’s hip. “It’s only you seem tired again, and I, well, I’ve already taken too many liberties. Forgive me.” He went to pull away, and just as his fingers left Thorin’s skin, the dwarf reached back, gently catching Bilbo’s wrist and turning part of the way back to face him.

“Bilbo,” Thorin said, voice low,  “I am not tired.” The angle of his body thus changed, Bilbo’s gaze drifted downward along Thorin’s bare torso. The scales were visible at his forearms and along his cheek, with splotches of grayish skin surrounding the patches on his chest. He knew he must appear a horror, but Bilbo’s gaze continued to trail down until it fell upon what Thorin had not, until that moment, thought to conceal.

“Ah…ha…” Bilbo said, and very carefully took his hands away with a sort of absent minded pat on Thorin’s shoulder, though he still did not look away. “I’m sorry, just dreadfully…. excuse me.”

Thorin sighed, turning back to press the  palm of his hand to his eyes. He would have massaged his temples if not for the sharp tips  of his blackened fingernails. “Pay it no mind, Master Baggins. It is an involuntary response.”

“That’s… oh, I suppose that makes sense,” Bilbo said, and was that disappointment in his voice? “Nothing to do with me I imagine. Probably not to your taste anyway.”

Thorin looked up, puzzled. “I said it was an involuntary response because I am familiar with it. You are the only other person down here, Bilbo.  Of course I am reacting to you,” Thorin said, brow furrowing because Bilbo still looked like a startled rabbit. He added dryly, “You needn’t fear. It is not as if I intend to ravage you. It will pass soon enough.”

Bilbo swallowed, but did not move away, and the hand that had reached out to pat Thorin’s shoulder remained there, as if transfixed by his words. “Of course? No, no, no! You can’t just say ‘of course!’” he sputtered, growing shriller with each word.

Thorin straightened, rousing himself fully from the haze of comfort, and frowned. “If apologies will help, then I offer them. I have made my regard for you clear in the past, and if it offends you now, then only say so and I will make an effort not to trouble you further.” The last came out more defensive than he intended, but Bilbo had struck a nerve. Rejection was its own blow, but what was worse, he was once again floundering in the overly complex world of social niceties that other races held so highly and dwarves habitually ignored. With no wish to offend Bilbo or drive him off, Thorin felt an infuriating sense of helplessness over  how to voice the obvious without treading one of those numerous invisible lines.

“No! It’s not…” Bilbo stopped. “Since when?”

Thorin shrugged, relieved to at least be able to resort to honesty. “Soon after the Goblin Tunnels.”

Bilbo gaped and Thorin’s eyes narrowed, wondering if he had said something to offend, when Bilbo said, “That long?”

“As I said, it is a reaction to your presence that is well known to me,” Thorin said, brow furrowing, perplexed by Bilbo’s many questions. “I am flesh and blood, after all. Is that so shocking to you?”

“Yes!” Bilbo blurted out, then coughed, and said in a hiss, “Why didn’t you _say_ anything?”

“I gave you the most valuable item in the treasury that was mine to give,” Thorin said, arching an eyebrow. “I had you at my side when all others had turned against me. I valued your counsel above even my own kin, until I learned of your deceit.” Bilbo winced at that. “Tell me, Bilbo, would saying aloud that I desire you in other ways have helped, or would it only have only lost you beyond recall? When faced with that choice, what can any of us do?”

“I cannot believe _you_ would have been worried about that. I’ve never known you to be afraid of anything, even when you should be,” Bilbo said.  There was a lightness to his tone that Thorin dared to hope  meant the worst was past, and he allowed himself a self-deprecating snort.

“In matters of duty I must be bold, even if my heart wills otherwise. But I am not so… accustomed to making such judgments on my own behalf.” He meant it as a simple statement of fact, but something flickered over Bilbo’s face, something close to grief. “Is this too surprising? Tell me then, would it have done any good?”

“Would it have…?” Bilbo grinned, one of those false, polite ones, and it fell away, followed by a dizzying array of emotions. Incredulity, suspicion, good humor, and finally flat disbelief. “You would have me believe you did all those things because you wanted me?”

“Is that so very hard to accept?” Thorin said softly. “Or is it merely distasteful to you?”

“Distasteful? No! Only unbelievable,” Bilbo said, bewildered. “You’re just so… _you_. You’re Thorin Oakenshield! You don’t want— you can’t possibly be interested in— I’m just a hobbit,” Bilbo finished weakly.

“Thorin Oakenshield is not so very much if he cannot see the worth of the one who pledged himself to his cause without ties of family or ambition, for no other reason than you wished to see us home,” Thorin said, and he did remember then, all those moments before they had been clouded by anger and hurt at the betrayal. But with only the two of them here, and no other great powers or purposes to offer distraction, he wondered how he had ever forgotten it all.

“But that’s ridiculous! It’s only what any person with half a heart would do,” Bilbo said desperately, but Thorin was already shaking his head.

“In over a hundred years, I have never met any outsider with half so much a heart. So tell me, Master Burglar, is it so extraordinary that I fell in love with yours?”

Had he said something wrong? Bilbo was staring at him, stricken and pale as if wounded. Surely he had not misunderstood so much, that a simple statement of the truth could be greeted with such horror?

Or was it the illness? Thorin’s gaze could not help but flicker to the puckered scars and blackened scales carved across his body like stains. Would such advances have only been politely dismissed once, but now Bilbo was confronted by an even worse prospect: that of a diseased and fallen dwarf lord’s regard for him?

“I have said too much,” he managed, his voice fallen to a growl as he struggled to keep it from wavering. “Do not be troubled, you need never hear of it again.” The cloak sat folded on the ground beside him, and he thought he might at least cover the ravages of his illness from Bilbo’s sight, when Bilbo’s hand caught his arm, drawing Thorin to face him.

“Love?” Bilbo said, as if struggling even now. Then in a smaller voice, “You love me?”

Thorin looked down to Bilbo’s soft hands wrapped around his scarred forearm, paying no heed whatsoever to the scales. As if he did not see them at all. Thorin looked up again. “Enough that I would keep silent for all the ages and a day, if it meant not putting you in an impossible position.”

“Oh, hang that! An impossible _position_?” Bilbo’s voice cracked. “Are you mad? Thorin, I’ve been _sick_ with worry over you, I’ve been going out of my mind with it! But I’ve stayed silent, because how could you ever want anything to do with me ever again? I betrayed you and I lied to you, I—” Bilbo’s expression crumpled, “I thought it was for the best, but I was so wrong, Thorin, and all those lies and all the pain I caused you were for nothing. All I wanted was to save your life, and it was for nothing, and now you’re so sick and I thought…” Bilbo looked blank, looked overwhelmed as he looked up at Thorin. “You’re not for me. You’re too grand. You’re a legend, for goodness sake, and I’m just… myself. A liar, a fool, and now a thief, for what turned out to be all the wrong reasons. I thought if I could make up for it in some small way, just see that you’re healed so you can see your family again… And now you say you love me and I don’t… I don’t know what to do with that.” Bilbo was shaking his head back and forth.

“Because you don’t feel the same way? Or because this legend you imagine is a creature of stone, rather than a being of flesh and blood?” Anger rose with each word. There it was again, this distance that had sprung up between himself and all others since Azanulbizar, since he lost his home, and discovered that in the eyes of others that he was no longer a living person, but a burnt dwarf, an unfortunate. The urge to say more, to beg and plead to be _seen_ , just this once, for who he was rather than what had happened to him, was too great, and too humiliating. Thorin swallowed it back, and looked away. “Bilbo, please, just let it go. I can see the thought is distressing to you.”

“Distressing?” Bilbo’s hand tightened around him. “Yes, very much so. Thorin, I have loved you so… helplessly and hopelessly… for so long, I’m not sure I remember who I _was_ beforehand. I would follow you on this quest a hundred times over, with no hope of you feeling anything in return, of even noticing I was there, because you see I... already have… once.” He looked at a loss, looked stricken and empty, as if saying those words had hollowed him out. “So, to answer your question: yes, it would have helped to know you felt the same.”

The same. Not ‘that way’, but the same. Thorin’s breath froze within him. He felt as if he were caught in amber, frozen there with a fault line crackling down the space that separated them. “What would you have done?” he said, lips barely moving as he looked back at Bilbo.

His was still, but his face flickered. In the downward tilt of Bilbo’s mouth and the rapid blinking of his eyes, something was happening, something shifting. Thoughts were racing too fast over his face for Thorin to track, but he leaned in closer anyway, trying to follow them and divine something of the mysteries going on behind those eyes between one blink and the next.

Bilbo surged forward, closing the inches between them, sealing his lips against Thorin’s. Dry, and uncertain, barely a peck before he broke away, and when he fell back he looked horrified at himself, uncertain and defiant at once.

“That,” Bilbo said, tilting his chin up, challenging. “So if you’re going to send me away, I suggest you do it right now, because I very much do not want to think about what I just did if I made a mistake.”

The amber cracked. Thorin swayed, feeling  the protection against the world  he had built up within him  falling away. He could still taste Bilbo’s kiss, the zing of shock in his blood at the contact, so different and yet not from the touches on his skin. He leaned forward, and Bilbo was not pulling away. Indeed, he tilted his head as he met Thorin in the middle, his lips soft and warm.

Still, he did not dare move closer, but Bilbo made the decision for both of them, edging forward until Thorin need no longer bend to kiss him back. Bilbo scooted into Thorin’s lap, and Thorin moaned into Bilbo’s mouth as he brushed against the indiscretion that had sparked their conversation in the first place. From that moment he was lost, wrapping his arms around Bilbo and drawing him close. Bilbo’s arms slid up from where they were trapped, wrapping them around Thorin’s shoulders. The smell of mint was overpowering, Bilbo’s hands cool with the oil as his fingers tightened around Thorin’s shoulders. There was a moment’s hesitation, Bilbo’s eyes flickering open as he broke the kiss and stared at Thorin as if unable to believe who was before him, breathless with it. Then, as if reaching some further decision, he shifted so he was pushing Thorin onto the bedroll, one palm on his chest.

Thorin fell back, unresisting, too overcome to question or to know what to expect until he was propped back on his elbows and looking up at Bilbo as the hobbit  climbed  into his lap, capturing his lips again. Grinding down.

Thorin gasped, his head falling back so that Bilbo’s lips were  hovering now at his throat. Bilbo took advantage of this, sucking kisses down Thorin’s throat. His arms shook, his body alight and weak with the rush of it, and Thorin could not keep himself upright,  but fell back onto the bedroll. Bilbo moved with him and was now flush against him, lying flat with his hands at Thorin’s shoulders, bracing himself as he kissed down to the dwarf’s  collarbone, stopping just short of his bare chest.

“I just about swallowed my tongue  when I saw you like this,” Bilbo said, breaking away and tracing a reverent hand down Thorin’s chest. “I must have made a fool of myself staring, but it was hard to look away from something so magnificent.”

“I thought you were disgusted by the scales,” Thorin breathed.

“More shocked at what a brazen tease you were, if you only knew the effect it had…” Bilbo said, punctuating this by pressing against him, his arousal obvious. Then, thoughtfully, “To be honest, I don’t think I saw them.”

“How could you not?” Thorin said, but Bilbo put a finger to his lips.

“With all this before me? They’re not that noticeable, really, and we’ll have it mended soon enough. I had other things on my mind, ones I thought quite hopeless. Indeed, I thought I was being terribly obvious." He punctuated the last with a kiss to Thorin’s jawline, murmuring in his ear, “Embarrassingly so.”

“Then we have both been fools,” Thorin said, eyelids fluttering as Bilbo’s lips drifted to the shell of his ear. He was so hard it was becoming an agony, and something must be done now or not at all. With great effort, Thorin shifted, putting his hands on Bilbo’s shoulder and pushing him back a little ways. Trepidation flickered over Bilbo’s face, still so uncertain, but Thorin locked eyes and said, “Bilbo, what would you have of me?”

“In general, or at this very moment?” he said breathlessly.

“Either.”

“Everything,” Bilbo said, and seemed surprised at his own words, eyes flicking up as he seemed to go over them again in his head, before refocusing on Thorin. “Everything,” he said more firmly. “There’s so much, I don’t know where to begin. Anything you would share with me. I want to see you well again, and I want to aid you however I may, and this time better. All of that, in general, but there is another part of me, much greedier I think, that wants…” he licked his lips, continuing in a rush, “that wants to give you pleasure, to see it.” Bilbo flushed and buried his face against Thorin’s shoulder, the words coming out muffled. “I can barely say it. Thorin, I want to be the cause of it.” His breathing was heavy, fluttering against the oil on Thorin’s skin. His own body was on fire with every word, and with Bilbo pressed up against him. Thorin’s cock was heavy between his legs and pulsing with the need of it.

“You have me,” Thorin said, voice hoarse. He ran a hand down Bilbo’s back, stopping at his hip, gripping it. “Take me.”

“What?” Bilbo said, going still against him.

“Unless you do not want to,” Thorin said, propping himself up a little. “Or if you would rather…”

“No, no, no, no,” Bilbo swallowed, shaking his head. “I want it, I just never…” He exhaled a breath, looking dazed. “Never thought to get the chance. You really want _me_ to?”

When had his mouth gone dry? “More than anyone.”

Bilbo stared. Then his expression smoothed again, became certain, and he gave a little nod to himself. When he spoke again, all uncertainty was gone, and there was something about the assurance of his voice that sent a pulse through Thorin’s already heated blood. “Right. Well, take your trousers off. It’s not a bad idea in any case to check for injuries there too.” Thorin huffed a quiet laugh at this. Trust Bilbo to consider practicality, even in a situation like this.

Bilbo had to clamber off to give Thorin the freedom of movement, and as he did,  the hobbit undressed too, a more involved process by comparison, as Thorin only had trousers to remove. Thorin watched as Bilbo removed the coat, the mithril shirt beneath spilling to the ground like quicksilver behind it, then his shirt and pants. The last went more slowly, as Bilbo visibly struggled with his own hesitation. The sight of Thorin beneath him, stretched out, naked, and very visibly aching for him, must have made the decision because Bilbo shed the rest.

Bilbo looked down at himself. He was thinner than when Thorin first met him at Bag End, and there was new muscle  on his shoulders and limbs, but the curve of his stomach was soft, and he ran a hand over it. Bilbo began tentatively, “As I said, I’m not much. Certainly not what your tastes probably lean to…”

Thorin dragged his gaze away from where he’d been staring at Bilbo’s body, his mouth watering at the sight of his flushed cock, and gazed up at Bilbo’s face. He looked unhappy, a half-frown on his face. Thorin propped himself up, cupping his hand over Bilbo’s stomach, tracing it back so he closed it around his hip, and pressed reverent, open-mouthed kiss against it, and another, nuzzling his face close so his breath warmed the skin. He looked up through his lashes at Bilbo, saw him swallow, a blush rising to his cheeks.

“Well, there is that,” Bilbo said in a strangled tone.

Thorin smirked, pressing another kiss, along with the flick of his tongue, against Bilbo’s stomach. Bilbo huffed out a stuttering breath, cheeks red, before he coughed and steadied it. “I may have thought of this before and I, uh, have some ideas. If that’s agreeable to you?”

Thorin raised an eyebrow and  lay back, stretching his arms out over his head, luxuriating in the pull of the muscles, the strange and heady feeling of being admired, before he looked up at Bilbo. “I am yours to command.”

Bilbo sucked in a breath, staring wildly at Thorin as if he’d been socked in the gut. “Oh no, now that is entirely unfair.”

“I thought that was the point?” Thorin remarked. He stretched again, back arching as he shifted to a more comfortable position.

“You, oh, you’re doing this on purpose!” Bilbo huffed. “I will get you back for that.”

“I would very much like to see you try,” Thorin said with all sincerity. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

Bilbo licked his lips, looking uncertain and off-kilter. “Well, I thought, maybe, you could turn over?” he said, and picked up the vial of oil, fidgeting with it between his hands before giving Thorin a questioning look.

Thorin’s breath caught in his throat, such that he could only keep his expression neutral as he nodded, turning over onto his stomach, with his head cradled in his arms. It was immediately more comfortable without the spines digging into his back. Bilbo shifted to kneel beside him, pouring a dollop of the oil into his hand and spreading it in a wide streak across Thorin’s back.

Thorin sighed, his head settling onto his arms at the sensation. This time he need not hide his enjoyment, and he shifted beneath Bilbo’s hand, making small, appreciative noises with each touch. And this time, Bilbo swept lower, running a hand down Thorin’s lower back and over the curve of his arse. Thorin shivered, shifting his legs apart.

“Oh,” Bilbo swallowed, working his hands over and between the cheeks. Thorin twitched, grinding his cock into the bedroll, as Bilbo’s fingers dipped between, teasing at his entrance. Thorin made a sound at the back of his throat, burying his face against his arms. “I thought, well, I suspected, but this is so much better.”

“Than what?” Thorin said. His face was heated, and not from the fire. Bilbo did not hesitate, but poured more oil and continued a slow, gentle massage between his thighs, running his finger back and forth over the entrance, causing Thorin to shiver from crown to toe.

“Anything I imagined,” Bilbo said. He leaned in closer, putting one hand on Thorin’s back to brace himself, and pressed a kiss to Thorin’s shoulder. “You’re so much more beautiful than I dreamed.”

“Bilbo?” Thorin said, looking up and back at him. Bilbo’s expression was soft in the firelight, and there was no mistaking the admiration in his eyes. He could see the heat and appreciation in Bilbo’s gaze, despite the discolorations that darkened his skin and nails like shadows. Perhaps they were invisible in the flickering firelight, perhaps Bilbo truly did not mind them, and if he did not mind then Thorin too might forget for a little while. He let himself ease back, warmth kindling within him at Bilbo’s words, at his touch.

“There, now just stay lovely and relaxed, hmm?” Bilbo said softly, teasing with the first finger. Thorin shuddered, releasing a deep breath, and forcing his body to ease further. Bilbo was liberal with the salve, slicking his finger as he worked it in and out. There was a familiar burn and stretch, but Thorin’s body was alight. It was all he could do to keep from pushing back on to it, a corner of his mind still struggling to process that _Bilbo_ was taking him, making love to him, gently working him open to— Thorin moaned deep at the back of his throat, brow furrowing as sweat began to prickle along his body at the thought.

“Just listen to you,” Bilbo marveled. “You really want this.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Thorin gasped against his arm. The hand stilled, and when Thorin looked back to discern  the cause, he saw Bilbo’s lips were parted as he looked at him.

Catching Thorin’s glance, Bilbo shook himself. “Right. Perhaps one day I’ll get over how extraordinary that is.”

Before Thorin could protest, draw Bilbo over and ask in bewilderment what Bilbo meant, why he continued to act as if he was somehow beneath Thorin’s notice, a second finger joined the first. Thorin groaned, and now with the leverage Bilbo was able to reach deeper within and find the spot that made Thorin lose all control, crying out and grinding back against Bilbo, eyes screwing shut as shivers raced along his skin.

“More,  _p_ _lease_ ,” Thorin gasped, knowing it was too soon still, but another shudder raced through him,  erasing all thought. Bilbo leaned in again, pressing kisses from Thorin’s shoulders down his spine, lingering at the small of his back so that his breath tickled the skin as his fingers continued their gentle work. Thorin was more than hard now, his cock was dripping as he rubbed himself into the bedroll, seeking friction, seeking anything as his mind imagined what was to come. Bilbo’s hand on him, Bilbo inside of him, touching him everywhere, gasping his own pleasure… Thorin whimpered, and heard an answering sigh from Bilbo, the press of heat against his thigh. Thorin looked over his shoulder and saw that Bilbo was leaning against him, his own lips parted and his face flushed with desire. The hot touch against Thorin’s hip was Bilbo’s cock, the underside digging into his hip, the head damp as Bilbo looked down at Thorin beneath him, his left hand braced on his back, fingers stroking idly along Thorin’s skin. Thorin breathed out a sigh as Bilbo reached over, pouring more of the oil as he slid a third finger in.

Thorin cried out, a broken, creaking sound, his fingers twisting in the bedroll. Bilbo struck the spot again, wrenching another groan from deep within his chest, a sobbing, half-choked sound.

“Very glad we’re the only ones here right now,” Bilbo said wryly, voice nevertheless hoarse. “Or I’m sure the whole mountain could hear.”

“Do you wish me to be silent?” He was no stranger to close quarters and the need for quiet. Only this time, he had been carried away, the burn of need so much greater for it being one he’d wanted so long, blurring his thoughts to all but the desire coursing through his veins.

“Don’t you dare,” Bilbo warned. “These are the loveliest sounds I’ve heard in  my life. I’m not about to ruin them with restraint. Just stay relaxed. Do whatever makes you comfortable, whatever you enjoy. We’re very close.”

“ _Fuck_ , Bilbo,” Thorin gasped, speech rapidly abandoning him. He drove back onto the delicious press of those fingers, feeling Bilbo twist them again, driving them against the spot that made him muffle a howl into the crook of his arm. His blood had become fire, all thought blank except need, sparks skittering across his skin and behind his eyelids.

“I know,” Bilbo said, and kissed Thorin’s back again. “Believe me, I know.”

Thorin shuddered and shivered through the final minutes of Bilbo’s patient, attentive work. Where he was, or who, had narrowed to only the feel of Bilbo’s fingers inside him, to the need for more, the ache in his groin and how he felt as if he were only a being made of fire and need, thoughts soaked with desire, ruined, until he felt those fingers slowly retract. He gasped, the shock of being so empty where once he had been full racing through him, only to feel a soothing hand trace along his back.

He heard once more the glug of the salve as Bilbo slicked himself. Thorin tensed in anticipation as Bilbo shifted, taking his place between Thorin’s thighs. He smoothed a hand over Thorin's well-oiled back, his tip teasing at the entrance but no more. “Are you ready?” Bilbo said. “If you want me to stop, I will.” The last was breathless and strained, but he made no move to force himself forward, only hesitated there until Thorin realized muzzily that he was being called upon to speak.

“Bilbo, _now_ ,” Thorin snarled, lifting his hips to push back. He heard the gasp as Bilbo’s fingertips clutched his hip, and he released his own as the tip slid in. Achingly slow, it took him a moment to realize Bilbo was letting him control the depth and speed, and when he looked back he saw Bilbo’s eyes were scrunched closed and his teeth dug into his lower lip. He was shaking with the effort to keep himself still, to let Thorin choose the pace, and much as Thorin would have liked to, he knew could not go much faster. Inch by inch, he lowered himself back until Bilbo was fully inside him and he released a pent-up gasp. His hair fell around face, chest heaving as he took in how _good_ it felt, how _right_ , how…

“You can move,” Thorin gritted out.

Bilbo exhaled, and tentatively closed his other hand around Thorin’s hip so he was holding on to him with both and shifted. The first stroke was clumsy, the second more assured, and he whimpered at the back of his throat. “Oh, Thorin… what was wrong with us? Why didn’t we do this sooner? I just… _ah_ … Thorin, what can I do? How can I make it better for you?” His voice was strained but his movements were steady and achingly slow, opening Thorin further until it was an easy slide.

“That. Don’t stop.” Thorin looked back over his shoulder as he said it, and lust surged through him at the sight of Bilbo’s face crumpled in passion and the ache of pleasure that went through his body as he brushed that  sweet spot. Bilbo’s hips rolled against his, slow and steady as a tide, until Thorin was bucking and writhing beneath him, and his imaginings came back to him, of what he had thought when Bilbo had run gentle fingers over his back. It had been very close to this, but the reality made the fantasies pale. He pressed hot kisses against Thorin’s shoulders,  drawing little answering moans from Thorin. It overwhelmed his mind as well as his body, this feeling of being cherished, being adored and made love to after so long of being alone, of being untouchable, and every doubt was swept away by the light of it.

Then Bilbo’s hand snaked under him, to the space afforded by Thorin’s elevated hips, and soft fingers wrapped around his aching cock.

Thorin gave a muffled cry, bucking hard back onto Bilbo’s cock, and the movement made Bilbo’s slick hand move back and forth along him. He whimpered, pushing again. “Fuck, _fuck_ , oh fuck, Bilbo.  _That_ , do that,” he breathed, giving another wrenching cry as Bilbo obeyed. There was no rhythm or elegance to it - Bilbo was too lost in his own pleasure for steadiness - but Thorin’s eyelids fluttered as the pleasure jumped, the muscles of his abdomen trembling, heat pooling in his loins as the pace grew quicker, Bilbo’s gasps  hoarse and ragged behind him.  Beneath them were muffled, broken off words. _So lovely, just… so…you’re beautiful. Do you know how often I dreamed of this? How often I imagined you, how badly I wanted to touch you, but I never thought, never dared…_

The idea that this might be true, that Bilbo had imagined him as well, admiring Thorin from afar, touching himself in the dark of night with Thorin’s name on his lips, tilted him over the edge. Thorin gave a low, helpless sob as his pleasure peaked, spasming through his entire body as he saw Bilbo touching himself in his mind, while in reality his hands stoked down Thorin’s length such that made him tremble, driving him instinctively to push back harder. Bilbo’s hand sped up, drawing out every shivering pulse of his orgasm until the pleasure of it flared  and his mind went gloriously blank, save for the feel of Bilbo inside him, the heat of his touch, and the smell of the mint.

The clench of his body around Bilbo dragged an answering cry from him, this one more of a whimper and a groan as his movement grew frantic, his hand falling from Thorin’s softening cock to dig once more into his hips. The force of it sent  shivers of aftershock through him as Bilbo cried out and spilled, heat pulsing inside him, once, twice the motions slowing with a shuddering breath.

For a moment, there was only a dazed stillness before Bilbo carefully slid himself out to prevent the ache from building, and as soon as he did Thorin went limp, too dazed to care anything for the mess, his body tingling in the aftershocks.

“There’s water, and I can clean us…” Bilbo began.

“In a moment,” Thorin said, voice thick. He reached back, coaxing Bilbo to lie down in the crook of his arm beside him. The hobbit obliged, nestling against Thorin’s chest, his skin just beginning to chill from the sweat as Thorin hugged him close.

“That was… that was…” Bilbo sighed, unable to find the words.

“Mmm,” Thorin agreed, nuzzling against Bilbo’s neck.

“I hope you enjoyed it?”

“Mmm.” To say more would be an understatement. Even the relaxation of his sleep upon the gold could not compare, all tension Thorin hadn’t known he was carrying falling away as he held Bilbo against him. That thin layer of uncertainty that had separated them as if by a pane of glass had fallen away, and Thorin held him skin to skin. There was no urgency, no drive to be anywhere but here. To let the world turn outside without them. “You?” he murmured, eyelids drifting closed as he took in Bilbo’s scent beneath the mint, tasting salt against his lips as he pressed close, breathing it in.

“Hnngh, I think I found a better use for my fourteenth share.”

Thorin smirked against him. “I should like to think I am not so easily bought.”

“It would not be enough gold in any case,” Bilbo replied, and then paused, gusting out a sigh. “It was wonderful, Thorin. You are wonderful. I never thought it possible for anything to feel that good, or for you to want me at all.”

The fires within now settling, it still felt as if  he was lit within by the gentle glow of a candle as Thorin pressed a kiss to the shell of Bilbo’s ear. “One day I must get to the bottom of this belief that you are beneath my notice.”

“Is it _really_ that hard for you to understand?” Bilbo said, half turning until Thorin freed a hand to ease him back.

“Let us only say that I do not give away mithril lightly,” Thorin murmured

“Well, indeed, as a gift from you it is priceless, but I fail to see how that’s relevant.”

Thorin frowned, brow furrowing, and he opened his eyes. “Bilbo, that shirt is worth more than your fourteenth share in gold and jewels alone.”

He felt as much as saw the tremor go through Bilbo as he jolted in Thorin’s arms, yelping, “What? Thorin, the expense!”

“It is of little account. It was mine to give to whom I will,” Thorin said. His muscles felt languid, and while he’d already slept long enough for two days’ rest, he still felt very little urge to move, much less calm an excitable hobbit.

“But—!”

“Shhh,” Thorin said, running his hand down Bilbo’s arm, pulling him closer.

“Fine then, but this is not the last you’ve heard of this. And that aside, we really shouldn’t linger too long. I got an idea from the books on how we might tackle this illness.”

“I think I prefer your earlier ideas,” Thorin teased. “Shhh, I understand. Later.”

“Thorin…”

“Later, Bilbo, it will keep,” Thorin said, and finally felt Bilbo subside next to him. He still gave a huff of frustration, but it seemed half-hearted as he burrowed closer.

Thorin closed his eyes again, letting his mind drift in peace. For now, all he wanted was to hold Bilbo against him and linger in this place between waking and sleeping. Here, where time had no meaning, and for once all that he desired was safe within his arms.


	2. Alternate Ch. 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alternate version of Chapter 12 of "Prayers to Broken Stone", the throne scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: This chapter contains suicide ideation and Thorin's generally hopeless outlook, just as a warning.

If Thorin could have one wish then, it was that they had stayed beside the fire, the scent of mint in the air and the sweat of their lovemaking cooling on their skin. Had they only stayed, he might have lived out his final days in ill-deserved bliss, and ended it before madness took hold, with a sword in his hand and Bilbo’s kiss upon his lips. What overweening pride had led him to think that any measure of mortals may have put an end to a curse that endured thousands of years?

His head still ached, pounding from the blow against the stone when Bilbo tackled him to the ground. The poniard blade was nowhere in sight, lost somewhere in the scuffle and he? He was bound, ropes digging into his wrists so that his arms were pinned to the throne, immobilizing him. Now his final moments were to be filled with the sight of Bilbo’s broken-hearted sobs, even though Thorin had been the one trying to kill him, no better than a beast that sought his beloved's blood.

“There was nowhere else, and I was afraid you would hurt yourself when you woke up,” Bilbo said, wringing his hands as he spoke. He stood where he often had, at Thorin’s side on the dais in those days when his was the only loyalty Thorin could trust. His eyes were red-rimmed, his voice hoarse with misery, and never before had Thorin seen such wrenching despair on his burglar’s face. Thorin’s gaze drifted, listless, down to the ropes that bound him, to his clawed hands that not moments before he’d sought to turn to the purpose of ending his own life.

Of course, Bilbo would not let him go so easily. Not one who had stolen them out from trolls, elves, spiders and many dangers besides, and he was stubborn and perverse enough to show his quality even when Thorin did not wish it.

He said he loved Thorin.

“Bilbo,” Thorin said faintly, stopping the hobbit’s tirade, his outpouring of apologies and explanations, as if he needed them. Thorin crooked his fingers as much as he could, the claws wicked and glinting in the light, grown at least an inch since the day before when they made love by the fireside. “Come here.”

He said this without any real expectation that Bilbo would obey. It would be within his right, indeed his practicality, not to. But Thorin’s was weighted down by a curious blankness as much as by the ropes, and time itself seemed slow and turgid, each action set after the other with no energy to spare for speculation, or hope.

Yet Bilbo approached, hesitating only a moment before he stepped forward, and put his hand on the back of Thorin’s. The touch was gentle, though the sensation was muted by the scales, and Bilbo’s had fluttered there an instant, uncertain, before settling and even sparing a gentle stroke with his fingertips before his soft, pink hand clenched around Thorin’s charred one.

“I am glad you are well,” Thorin said, still looking at their intermingled hands, but he heard Bilbo’s disbelieving snort.

“That _I’m_ well? You’re the one who took an almighty crack to the head. It’s a testament to that hard skull of yours that you woke at all,” Bilbo said, and his tone was light but for the underlying thread of real fear beneath his words.

“Nevertheless,” Thorin said with a faint huff of amusement, then shivered, memory of that monstrousness flashing in his head, his intentions should he have happened upon Bilbo. “I would never have forgiven myself had I laid hands upon you. You were right to flee.”

“It would be the first thing I did right. I should never have brought you back to the gold. We should have stayed at the camp as you said, but I was stupid and reckless.”

“It was as good a plan as any,” Thorin said, the memory of a smile teasing the corner of his lips for all that his voice was worn. Then his vision changed as Bilbo crouched down to fill it, placing his other hand on Thorin’s knee as he gazed up at him like a supplicant.

“But now we need another one,” Bilbo said, expression firm. “We have to get out of here, Thorin.”

The threatening smile faded from Thorin’s face and he went very still. Somehow, Bilbo still saw a way out of this. Of course he did. And coward that he was, Thorin could not muster the words to disillusion him.

What did he want? Nothing but that the final hours of his life should hold something less than misery. To depart knowing he left Erebor in the hands of his heirs, and if some grace should go with him it was the knowledge that he had been loved, that he did not die alone. Even that seemed too great a price to beg, but perhaps he was beyond the shame of begging now. The truth, the strength to end it all now waited on his tongue, and yet, and yet…

“Must there be one?” Thorin said, looking away. “We have tried and tried to find an answer to this, Bilbo. May we not rest?”

For a long moment, Bilbo looked at him, then nodded in understanding, looking ashamed. Thorin felt the pang of his own shame. It was not a lie except by omission. He simply knew he would not walk away from this.

Bilbo moved, leaning forward, and the unconscious movement of Thorin’s head to track him must have read as the invitation it was. Their lips met and it was all Thorin had not known he needed as Bilbo sat in his lap and curled up against him, resting his curly head against his shoulder. Immediately the tension the hobbit carried eased and he relaxed against Thorin. Though Thorin had hunted him, though not an hour before some lurking savagery of the curse had tried to kill him… and Thorin had not the heart to question it, but buried his face against Bilbo’s hair, breathing in the scent of it.

“I’m sorry about the ropes,” Bilbo said after a long moment. Thorin shook his head, rubbing the tip of his nose into Bilbo’s hair.

“Do not be,” Thorin murmured. “You were wise to do so. The creature that chased you sought your death, Bilbo, you would have been wiser still to kill me.”

“Stop,” Bilbo said with a shiver. “Please, no more of that.”

Thorin went silent.

“I was afraid I bound you too tight,” Bilbo continued, after a moment.

Thorin snorted. “I doubt that you could,” he said, flexing his forearm. The ropes creaked around the scales. “This new flesh is like leather. I feel nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Almost nothing,” Thorin conceded. “There is some pressure.”

Bilbo went quiet as he considered this. “Still, I tie a very good knot. You would be hard pressed to get out of that one-handed, and this rope was meant to hold our weight in case you had fallen down a mineshaft. Your people really are averse to railings, I’ve noticed.”

Thorin grunted noncommittally. No dwarf worthy of the name would fall simply for lack of railings, not surrounded by the stone of the mountain.

“I only mean, this rope is very strong, if I do not untie it I doubt you could simply pull it apart,” Bilbo said, and seemed to be working his way up to another attempt to gain Thorin’s permission to untie him.

Thorin did not say what he was thinking: that each day a new, terrifying strength flowed into his limbs. The claws lengthened. The fire at the back of his throat waited, and soon may come when he called, not only when he was angry, or terrified. Not long now, and these ropes would serve no barrier at all. Thorin shuddered at the thought, pushing it away, beyond the shadows that haunted the edge of his mind. For now, the ropes held back the specter of that voice, the creature that hunted Bilbo through the halls like a tracking hound.

He tugged once again on the ropes. They held, but a strange sensation followed closed behind, sweeping his mind, his bones and muscles: a heady, drugged feeling. Relief. There was nothing he could do. Until and unless the transformation progressed, he was bound at Bilbo’s mercy. The thought sent a shiver through him despite himself. To be bound, to be safe in Bilbo’s hands and at his caring mercies. Thorin released a breath, shivering.

“It feels… good,” Thorin confessed into Bilbo’s curls, his eyes fluttering at the feel of warmth coming from Bilbo’s skin, “knowing that I cannot hurt you.”

“That was not you, Thorin,” Bilbo said.

“That I cannot hurt you should the curse return, then,” Thorin said, not wanting to argue the point. Who knew indeed, how much of that haze had been some buried instinct of rage, and how much the curse? He did not want to examine it at present, not with Bilbo pressed against him and the heady feeling of the ropes working its witchery through his veins.

Thorin’s eyelids fluttered at the sensation, and when he opened them again Bilbo was watching him intently, brow furrowed. Then his eyes widened with that flicker of cleverness that Thorin knew well, even if he did not understand what had prompted it in this instance. Until Bilbo leaned in, capturing Thorin’s lips in a heady kiss, hot and seductive, pulling away only an inch to speak.

“So you like them, the ropes?” Bilbo said against his lips. Despite himself, Thorin gave a needy rumble at the back of his throat as Bilbo accompanied his question by grinding down into Thorin’s lap.

“I’m not sure what there is to enjoy,” Thorin murmured back, but heard the lie in his own voice as soon as he said it. The tug of the ropes on his arms was doing things to his mind, soothing him, intoxicating him. Once it might have alarmed him to be so bound, but there was no one here within the vast kingdom of Erebor except he and Bilbo, one whom he trusted without reservation.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve heard of some who find it quite intoxicating, being a little helpless. All in good fun, just knowing that there is nothing they can do, except be taken care of,” Bilbo said, his voice dropping to a croon. His eyes were dark, and as he spoke he nuzzled against Thorin’s cheek. “As I would very much like to. Just think, we will never have this chance again.”

Thorin jolted, pulling back. Had Bilbo seen through him so easily, that he had no intention of greedily seeking more than this day? “What do you mean?”

“Well, this is the only time we can ever be certain that there’s no one else within the mountain. Once the city is opened up again, those galleries will be full of people at all hours of the day. This may be our only chance for a bit of naughtiness out in the open like this.”

“You mean on the throne, defiling the seat of my forefathers?” Thorin said, relief assuaging his alarm, and his tone was lightly teasing.

“A seat of power, which normally is out here in front of the eyes of everyone. Just imagine how many boring days you will have sitting here, when you’ll wish we could take that chance.” Bilbo countered, “Come now, even you must admit that is just a little bit tempting.”

“I assure you, even the thought of allowing my mind to wander towards such thoughts while holding court has never once occurred to me,” Thorin said dryly.

“Oh, I'm sure,” Bilbo snorted. “Well I've never held court, but I must admit  _I_ find the thought to be rather intriguing.”

Indeed it was, because this was their last chance, for another reason than Bilbo imagined. A tremor went through Thorin at the thought. Bound and at Bilbo’s mercy, the power of the king on his throne turned on its head, unable to move from the seat of power that had become a loving prison just for the purpose of allowing Bilbo to tease and torment him.

More important than that, Bilbo was smiling, wry and teasing, a flush gathering in his cheeks and his eyes dark with desire. Desire for Thorin, even now. Perhaps only because Thorin was bound and could not hurt him. Perhaps it was something else, and his hobbit had a bit more of a taste for this than Thorin realized.

“What would you do?” Thorin said a trifle breathlessly, voice rumbling low.

Bilbo wetted his lips, looking out of the corner of his eye at Thorin before facing him full, voice dropping low, “Please you, I hope.”

It may have been ridiculous any other time, but there was no humor in Bilbo’s glance, only burning certainty, desire that sent a zing of heat through Thorin’s veins, pooling in his belly and his lips parted as he nodded. “Show me.”

A hesitation, only a brief one as Bilbo’s gaze flickered over Thorin, taking him in, and then with a small nod to himself as if coming to a decision, he slid from Thorin’s lap and to the floor, crouching between his knees. His eyes smoldered as he looked up at Thorin, and Thorin found his breath catching in his throat as another shiver, a harsher one, filled with lust, temporarily blotted out all other thought. It took with it any plans he had, any thoughts for the future for how he would next have to explain to Bilbo that this was indeed their last time. Instead replacing it with _heat,_ that he was helpless at Bilbo’s mercy, and that mercy was used to undress Thorin as reverently as if he was indeed a king and beloved all at once.

Normally the number of layers would have made it a challenge, bound as he was, but he wore only soft trousers that slipped down easily with only a little help. He was already half-hard at the thought, at Bilbo’s eyes trained upon him and the pleased sound the hobbit made once he was revealed. He was gentle, or perhaps teasing to the point of cruelty, tracing soft hands along Thorin’s inner thigh before taking him in hand.

Revulsion twisted in Thorin’s gut to see the spread of the scales had gone even here, the skin of his inner thigh gray with the threat of them, though the skin of his inner thigh was still soft and unscaled. Thorin flinched at the sight, looking away and in the darkness behind his eyelids he could too easily see the spread of fine scales there. Today, tomorrow… it didn’t matter. It would stop here. Just one last moment of selfishness, of joy, of pleasure, before the end. He released a breath, which turned to a gasp as Bilbo took him in his mouth.

The ropes were taut around Thorin’s wrists and he could break them easily. By tooth or claw or flame he could break them as if they were no more than cobwebs, but their pressure was a comfort against the leather of his skin. This way he could not hurt anyone, this way he was bound and he moaned deep within his throat as he tossed his head back and stared up at the ceiling. The wet heat of Bilbo’s mouth closed around him again and the moan turned to a keen.

It was all he could do to keep from moving his hips. He dared not look down, dared not look to see what he had become, but in his mind’s eye he was still himself, still whole and he could imagine whatever he wished. That he was whole and that Erebor was empty, only waiting for the triumphant return and it was just he and Bilbo before the gates were thrown open, this final moment of solitude and—

Bilbo flicked his tongue across the slit and Thorin’s mind went white. His breath hissed through his teeth as every muscle contracted and he felt the ropes pulling at his wrist and that… that sensation shot through him like a drug, like the finest of wine, and every muscle relaxed immediately. What was it, a corner of his mind wondered, what was it about the security of being bound that eased him so? For it was not just any bindings, he had been all but wild with rage or terror when bound in Goblin Town, or Mirkwood. But here, the ropes were soothing, Bilbo’s tongue and hands caressing his inner thigh served as a counterpoint to the tightness at his wrists and he thought he would melt into the stone itself.

To be bound, to have all command and control taken from him by one who cared for him… it was a luxury he had never allowed himself, _could_ never allow himself. How ironic that he should have it now, here at the end of his life. He screwed his eyes shut and allowed the sensation to scour him, wave upon wave of pleasure washing through him as Bilbo’s tongue flicked and his lips worked Thorin’s length.

He could not prevent a whining, bereft cry as Bilbo stopped just when he came closest to the edge. The hobbit pulled away, and Thorin looked down at him through slitted eyes, breath heaving in his chest.

“I thought we might,” Bilbo paused, cheeks flushing. “Well, I thought I might… like to, err…”

“Whatever it is, do it. I beg you,” Thorin begged, voice hoarse.

Bilbo straightened, flush fading as some resolve took him and before Thorin’s hazy vision he began to strip, then clambered onto Thorin’s lap. Thorin groaned deep at the back of his throat, pressing his face to Bilbo’s throat, littering it with curses, muttering. “Please, please…”

“I was thinking I might… let you take me,” Bilbo said, hesitating over the words.

“Anything, anything you like, only please,” Thorin said. His cock was throbbing and damp between his legs and Bilbo seemed impossibly far away, time and thought even further from his mind as Bilbo bent down to rummage through the pack, taking from it some cooking oil, and set to work.

“This may take a moment. It’s been a good long while,” Bilbo said, voice hitching. Thorin swallowed, pupils dilating at the sight, the hot flesh of Bilbo’s knees clenched around Thorin’s thighs to brace himself. His face was flushed, teeth worrying his lower lip as sweat prickled along his hairline despite the chill. The ropes tugged at Thorin’s wrists as he instinctively leaned in so not to lose even a second of Bilbo’s facial expressions. Bilbo’s eyelids fluttered, pupils blown wide as his eye caught Thorin’s and he was leaning in, skin hot and blush rising as their noses brushed and Thorin closed the distance. The hitches in Bilbo’s breath, little gasps and whimpers were on Thorin’s lips, trapped by his mouth and he could _feel_ his lover’s body through his lips, each quickening of breath, every sigh.

His arousal ached, returned full force for the feast before him, the anticipation of Bilbo’s body closing around him. The need to touch tugged at Thorin with the feel of ropes around his wrists, the promise between them that bound him there. So he made love with his lips, kissing the column of Bilbo’s throat as his worked and he edged, whimpering, closer to preparation. Bilbo's cock was hard and leaking as it pressed to Thorin’s stomach, wrenching a groan of anticipation from him, and only when he realized Bilbo’s free hand was on his chin, pulling it forward for a fierce kiss did he hear the words he murmured hot and fervent against Thorin’s lips.

“Now, Thorin, now, f—please,” Bilbo said, and the breath hissed out from between Thorin’s teeth, his head striking the back of the throne as the tip pressed to Bilbo’s entrance, and inched in.

“ _Ah!”_ An explosion of breath from the depths of his lungs, pleasure zinging through him, tightening the muscles of his abdomen as Bilbo’s face screwed up in concentration and his arms wrapped around Thorin’s shoulders, bracing himself, using Thorin for his pleasure as he slid further, and began to move. Tiny, tentative motions at first, but a cracked, groaning sound broke free of Thorin’s throat  and his head fell forward, pressing his forehead to Bilbo’s as their lips parted long enough for them to both drag in gulping breaths of air. A fire within was kindled, creeping upward through him, curling his fingers and toes as his body tightened and tensed in some instinctive motion as if to resist the wash of pleasure going through him in a powerful surge. Bilbo’s arms tightened around him, and the motions grew bolder, lips hot and teeth scraping as he began to ride Thorin.

His world narrowed, to the tight heat that encircled him, to the ropes like brands encircling his wrists. A sense of floating radiated from his wrists down, as if he were drunk, body clinging to the feeling of pressure that bound him down, and though some distant part of him knew he could easily shred the bonds, the very presence of them bewitched him. He was starving for Bilbo’s touch, for the desperate, open-mouthed kisses he pressed to Thorin’s throat as his movements grew desperate. He freed one hand from Thorin’s shoulders and wrapped his fingers around his own cock, whimpering at the back of his throat as his motions in pleasuring himself matched the pace of their rutting.

“I want to, I want...” Thorin gasped, head tilting back. Wanted to take Bilbo in hand, to feel the pulse as he worked his cock and drew more of those gasps from him, the edging keen of need.

“No. Lie back. This is f—fine,” Bilbo huffed. “Better than fine, Thorin, _oh_.” Bilbo’s eyes narrowed so his lashes brushed his cheeks as he looked down at Thorin, lips parting as he watched him. Thorin looked up, feeling the spread of scales like dirt on his body, covering the left side of his body but for clean patches on his face and throat, his chest. Bilbo’s expression, pinched with need as it was, softened, became worshipful as he looked down, the hand working between them stuttering.

The thought that Bilbo was pleasuring himself with Thorin’s body, even now, was like a punch in the gut, tightening his muscles, curling his toes as his mouth fell open, eyelids fluttering as Bilbo worked up and down on his cock, that tight heat drawing him in, clenching and milking him for every shred of identity, given up for this, this moment. Some cold corner of his heart, that part that simmered in his rage and seemed to crawl along his skin, bearing with it the shadow of the mind that made him hunt Bilbo through the halls, surfaced. Suspicious and cold, it searched Bilbo for selfishness, for use or subterfuge, taking his pleasure only for himself, and Thorin’s claws flexed into the stone arms of the throne…

Yet it found none. Bilbo ground down against Thorin, a twisting, driving motion that wrenched a moan from him, Bilbo’s eyes closed so he missed the moment of the cold turn of Thorin’s thoughts, and eyes opening again he pulled Thorin closer with the arm wrapped around his shoulders, dipping down to press a sweet kiss to his forehead, down his nose to dust over his lips then seal against them, warm and needy and filled with such love it a fresh ache bloom in Thorin’s heart. Banished the coldness, the flash of that other creature to the depths where it belonged. Impossible that it would be forever, but for now he would give it not a moment of his thoughts. He returned the kiss, whispers rising to his lips, _“Amrâlimê_.”

Bilbo gasped and shivered, eyes opening again. “What does that mean?” he gasped, voice hoarse and wrecked.

“I thought you might know by now,” Thorin said, their noses brushing. His eyes flickered to Bilbo’s lips and all at once it was too much, the tidal movement that was building within him to breaking point, the love burning in his heart and how beautiful Bilbo was above him, sweaty and flushed, clenching around him. Thorin’s hands dug into the stone, and he gave a helpless sob, pressing his face to Bilbo’s shoulder as he shuddered. Pleasure crested and crashed through him, tightening and relaxing him everywhere between one breath and the next, shivering through him so that he was nothing but pleasure, and need, and the taste of Bilbo’s kisses on his lips.

“ _Thorin_ ,” Bilbo whimpered, and the final shudders of Thorin’s orgasm sharpened as he felt Bilbo clench around him and cry out, hand moving fast over his cock as he pushed himself over the edge, coming hot across Thorin’s stomach. As he did his eyes were open and heavy –lidded, never once looking away from him, and when he finally stilled, loose-limbed, whole body a sigh  as he fell against him, he pressed a cooling, gentle kiss to Thorin’s lips. Gently too he rose up to free himself and Thorin’s breath hitched at the loss, at what he would never have again, as he slipped free, and then Bilbo unwound his arm from around Thorin’s shoulder, the clean fingers tracing through Thorin’s beard, touching his chin and bringing him closer for another kiss, sweet and gentle.

Then with a sigh, Bilbo curled up against him, leaning his head against Thorin’s shoulder, boneless and warm in his lap. He looked up at Thorin with sleepy eyes, a tiny smile drifting across his lips. Thorin swallowed, tenderness blossoming in him so bright it seared. He wanted nothing more than to just stay there, content in this moment.

“Some endearment, then?” Bilbo said, voice muzzy, with a hint of contented playfulness.

“I thought I made that abundantly clear,” Thorin replied, voice rumbling low.

“Mmm, still it is nice to hear it said more plainly,” Bilbo said. He nuzzled closer, face pressed against Thorin’s chest, breathing against him. His head nodded, and Thorin was content to let him do so, to have a bit longer this time and watch him sleep when Bilbo perked up, eyes opening. “Oh, but how foolish of me! Let me untie you so we can get cleaned up.”

The moment broke.

“ _No_ ,” Thorin choked out, the word swift and instinctive, harsher than he meant. Still Bilbo looked up, straightened, face stricken and confused. “No, I do not wish it.”

“What?” Bilbo’s brow furrowed and he looked up, eyes searching Thorin’s face.

“Leave them.”

A smile flickered over Bilbo’s features, a half-hearted grin that just as quickly fled, falling back into incomprehension. “The ropes? Thorin, don’t be absurd. I can’t very well leave you here.”

“But you must.” Thorin felt the moment his own expression crumpled, and there was no amount of steadiness or control that would have prevented it, that would have allowed him to remain aloof during this last goodbye. It had been beautiful, like a dream of Erebor restored, himself whole within his own body, Bilbo at his side. For a little while, Bilbo had allowed it to be true, and for that gift he had nothing in return. It ended, as did all dreams for him, ever since fire first rained down from the sky.

Thorin looked into Bilbo’s eyes, the faint glow of his cursed gaze illuminating Bilbo’s face, draining the color from his curls. Thorin willed his lover to understand the depth and necessity and shame that brought him to this. Willed him to _see_ that if Thorin must beg once more for his own end, he would not have the strength for it. What Bilbo offered was too tempting, this acceptance without condition, love and comfort without price. It was almost enough to allow Thorin to believe that it would not be so bad, even to fall into the depths of degradation, because he would not be alone there.

Yet with his cursed eyes washing Bilbo’s features blue, Thorin knew he could not ask that. Here it must end, on this cusp before dream turned to nightmare.

“No, no, no, Thorin, don’t you dare…” Bilbo’s hand came up to clasp his cheek, the thinning patches of beard and diseased flesh, as if he didn’t see the scales at all. He pressed their foreheads together, and so close Thorin could see the tears that clung to his eyelashes and did not fall as Bilbo swallowed them back. His resolve shuddered beneath the touch and he turned, pressing a kiss to the inside of Bilbo’s palm.

Bilbo opened his eyes, so close they shared breath, so close that Thorin could feel his warmth against the feverish heat of his own skin, and know he was burning up from within. There would be nothing to leave to him, even if he dared.

“Please. Only stay with me, until the end.”

So close he saw Bilbo’s pupils shrink and felt a shudder pass through him, as if he were suddenly clasped in a great hand and caught. Saw Bilbo shake his head as in denial and then his shoulders fell, as if the life left him, and when he opened his eyes again and pulled away they were dazed and he looked at Thorin as if from within a fog.

“Then I will stay.” Bilbo gulped, and looked away, shaking his head as if to drive away a troubling thought, looking still dazed when he looked up again. “Come now, let’s get cleaned up. Then we can… we can…” Words failed and he looked back to Thorin, lost and empty and confused.

Thorin nodded, equally unable to speak, and only felt the cold comfort that Bilbo finally understood, that the fight was over, at least. Yet he could not shake the feeling that something had gone terribly wrong in Bilbo’s sudden acquiescence, that some crime had been committed when Bilbo helped him wash, his head bowed as if preparing a body for burial. When Bilbo, still bleak and pale took his seat curled up in Thorin’s lap and placed his cheek to Thorin’s chest, just above his heart. His breath shallow as he listened to the final strong steady beats and his eyes dry and Thorin tried not to think what he would do to not have this be the last time. Knowing, as in all things, that it was. When Bilbo spoke in faint, distant tones, voice strained.

“It’s so quiet here, I can’t bear it. Talk to me, Thorin. Tell me of your home, what was it like to grow up in such a place?”

Hands bound to the throne of his forefathers, a blasphemy crawling its final paces over his skin, Thorin bowed his head in obedience and began to speak in a low rumbling voice of the last dream of Erebor, and a life that would never be his again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My deepest apologies for the delay, guys. I want to jump back into this story, so any comments you might have would be deeply appreciated. Thank you for reading!


	3. Alternate Ch. 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate to Prayers to Broken Stone Ch. 17 - Thorin and Bilbo find themselves locked away by the dragon in a room they cannot escape. Thorin's transformation is nearly complete, the next inevitable stage is the increasing possession by the dragon of Thorin's mind and body. Thorin hits his lowest point and, desperate to keep his beloved from spiraling further, Bilbo does all he can to show Thorin he is still worth fighting for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is **very** dark and may be the angstiest piece I've ever written. It has **additional warnings** compared to the other chapters, which include:  
>  **mentions of self-harm, suicide ideation, attempted assault, and in general an extremely dark and bleak world view**.
> 
> However, there is also light. Please heed all warnings, but if you've finished PTBS (which I hope you have) you know there is hope waiting at the end.

The kiss carried within it all of Bilbo’s desperation, all the fear and relief like a drug that left him dizzy. Thorin was alive, even after the throne, and the dragonspell gaze that had almost forced Bilbo to drive Sting into Thorin’s vulnerable heart, if Gandalf had not stopped him. There the good turns of their fortune ended for now they were trapped, where neither of them knew, nor how they could escape. 

Bilbo still shuddered at the memory of that horrible second voice emerging from Thorin’s lips. He even more so he cursed himself for voicing aloud what Gandalf had told him of the hypnotic gaze of dragons that allowed them to control the minds of others, the magic that Thorin had applied so innocently and inexpertly to Bilbo’s own mind, all in an attempt to beg him to end Thorin's life. How could he have not seen where that would leave Thorin? Quaking with doubts that any love that existed between them was more than a compulsion he had willed into existence with that gaze.

The kiss seemed to be helping though. Bilbo could feel the tension easing from Thorin’s body as it went on, warm and welcome, banishing the horror of that dark room. Thorin’s lips were rough beneath his, hardened by the transformation but it mattered not, not if Thorin was alive and there to hold.

And it was a relief to hold him there, to taste those lips no matter how they’d changed. Such that Bilbo barely felt it at first, the hot sear across his cheek. Only when he passed his hand over it, hardly thinking as he tasted Thorin’s lips, did he feel the drip of hot liquid down his face. 

“Bilbo?” Thorin murmured. Bilbo shook his head, pulling away from the kiss, his brow furrowed in confusion. When he took his hand from his cheek, it was stained black in the light of Thorin’s cursed gaze. 

“Is that…?” Scaled hands with claws sprouting from the fingertips nearly as long again as Bilbo’s fingers reached for him, and Bilbo lurched back instinctively, still frowning at the stain on his hands. He felt a trickle down his cheek to his throat, growing cooler as it reached his collar.

“Careful there, love,” Bilbo muttered, touching the back of his hands to the cut. He winced as it stung. “I think you might have knicked me.”

Thorin’s outstretched hand thudded to his side. “I barely touched you.”

Bilbo grimaced. “It’s nothing, we just need to be more careful next time.” It was thin slice, not very deep but like a bad papercut it stung like the dickens, putting away all heated thoughts. There was really nothing to bind it with, he could only dab it with his cuff and not think too hard on the grime. He glanced up at the silence that met his words, the light of Thorin’s gaze trained at the ground, unblinking and still. 

Where five deep gashes sliced into the stone floor, as if it were soft as butter, the tips of Thorin’s fingers still resting in the grooves.

Bilbo could not help himself, but sucked in a breath at the sight. He remembered Smaug cutting the columns of the treasury with his claws, tearing them apart as if they were no more than brittle twigs. Thought of those claws brushing his face, parting the skin like paper, and gulped. 

The claws had not been so sharp on the throne. He remembered scratches on the armrests, but nothing so deep as this, nor had the claws been so long on Thorin’s hands but only blackened, pointed nails. They could no longer be called that and Thorin held them up to his face now, turning them this way and that to see the point his fingertips now turned hard and sharp at the end, fast losing all resemblance to dwarven hands. 

The realization did not seem lost on Thorin. “I cannot touch you, not any longer. Not like this,” Thorin said, stricken. Bilbo flinched back as Thorin’s gaze met his, a habit that was becoming instinct against the dragonspell. Thorin swallowed. “Or with my eyes. And soon not with my thoughts, because I will not know you.”

He should say something. Bilbo knew he _needed_ to say something but his thoughts were sluggish, dizzily circling the warm splash of blood on his hand and the droplet trickling down his neck to his throat. The cut stung hot around the edges. “No…No, Thorin, it’s fine."

“It isn't. Here, let me,” Thorin said, voice low and brooking no argument. He worked with quick efficiency. Bilbo did not know where he found the cloth but Thorin was gingerly pressing a thick piece of wadded fabric to his cheek, his hands well away. It took only moment for Bilbo's own thoughts to clear and for Thorin to draw back. “It is shallow. Once tended it should leave no scar.”

“Well, thank goodness,” Bilbo said dazedly. But indeed the trickle had stopped and Thorin settled back, dropping the cloth to his side.

“...This time,” Thorin murmured. It was some few minutes before Bilbo gathered himself enough to realize how deep the silence fell after.

“Thorin?” he said, if for no other reason than to fill the aching silence with some sound of life beyond their own breathing. That lingering uneasiness whenever Thorin went quiet remained, though with all the chaos, the throne, their kiss in the dark, the pounding fear that they may never leave this room if they were not rescued, he would not have blamed Thorin for dozing. 

He reached out to touch Thorin, just to reassure himself, and Thorin jerked beneath his hand. Away. Pulling in on himself as he hunched against the wall.  His hand clutched his scaled shoulders, those razor claws tense, pressed to his skin as if he would pull himself apart.

“This time it was nothing, Bilbo, but how much longer? How can there be any guarantee that the next time will not be worse, or the time after? What is to stop this creature from killing you? I can feel its darkness growing with me and I cannot stop it. There is nowhere I can run. Do you understand? I can feel this body _rotting_ all around me,” Thorin’s voice cracked on the edge of a sob. “It is stealing everything from me, piece by piece, while I may only watch. Yesterday my flesh, today your touch, and what is tomorrow? The rest of my mind? My soul, _your_ life?My only wish was to destroy it before it could take anything more and that hope too has been robbed of me.”

“You know I will not let that happen. We’ll find a cure for this, I promise…” Bilbo began, but Thorin was only shaking his head.

“I know you believe that. I know, but I hate it, Bilbo,” Thorin said, pressing the heel of a clawed hand to his forehead and staring sightlessly down as he ground it against his face, as if he could drill away his own sight. “I hate this form. I hate this existence and all it has taken from me. My life stolen by inches and I wondered, why? Except I know. It is weakness, and frailty. I have always been ill-fated and doomed. Only I thought there might at least be some mercy in the world, that the end might be swift. Not this. Not this slow death. Not watching all that was good, all that I ever fought for, _lost_. And not before it is first turned to evil purpose, my own flesh used to destroy all I love.”

Thorin looked up, his eyes empty. “This is happening, Bilbo, and nothing can stop it,” Thorin said and Bilbo thought dully that this was finally it. That explosion of rage, and pain, and _grief_ that he feared may come at any moment, with a cry wrenched from the depths of Thorin’s being. “I cannot stop it. This is me, Bilbo, this has always been me. That beast, that creature stole everything from me. He stole my home, he stole my mother, and because of that my grandfather and my father and brother. I died the day the city fell. Every day since this has waited me. I could not stop it. Erebor fell because I could not stop such a creature once and in that I am no better than him, Bilbo. I am no better and now all can see it. It is marking my skin, it is twisting my flesh and bone. I am no longer a dwarf, I am no longer of Durin’s line, only another beast that will destroy all that is good. I will lose my mind and be a servant of evil like it was and I will keep my own home from going to my kin if it does not stop. Bilbo, it will never stop, this will never _stop_.”

Bilbo could not help himself, he reached out, desperate to do something, to _say_ something to soothe the tide of anguish but Thorin started from him.

“No. There is no _saving_ me from this. This is me, Bilbo. It always has been. Even when there is no more threat it is me, that is all that is left. I am cursed from within and I loathe it. I loathe myself more than I ever loathed Smaug, because I cannot escape, Bilbo. There is nowhere to go. I am bound by my own flesh, I am trapped in my own existence.” Bilbo watched the first tears spill from Thorin’s eyes, helpless to stop them. “And what is worse, I cannot end it, because you are trapped here with me. If I knew you were _safe_ , if I could only get you free.” Thorin slammed the back of his fist against the stone wall. “Then at least it would be over.” The last came out as an exhausted whisper and his head fell back against the wall, hair spilling over his shoulders and the tracks of tears gleaming low in the light. His breath came in harsh, shuddering gasps and Thorin began to weep, great aching sobs, breath hissing through his teeth.

“Thorin, no,” Bilbo said and thought his heart would crumble to dust in his chest. He reached a tentative hand forward, placing it on Thorin’s knee and inching closer until he could feel the heat radiating off Thorin’s skin. This time Thorin made no move to stop him and his sobs quieted into harsh choking sounds as he looked up. “Thorin, no, you are not doomed, you are not foul. You have been unlucky, but it is not who you are.” Thorin looked away, expression creased with agony. Bilbo stopped, helpless and unsure. “Please, come here,” Bilbo said, and extended his arm, hand outstretched in entreaty. Thorin shuddered and pulled away, pulling tighter into himself and if Bilbo thought he’d known pain at Thorin’s tears it was nothing like this new ache in his heart to see Thorin Oakenshield making himself small, those long claws digging into his skin and his body curled up in anguish. “Thorin, please…”

“I despise this, Bilbo,” Thorin whispered. “I know what you would do, but the sight of it… the thought of you touching this foulness is a horror to me. It sickens me.”

Bilbo’s hand remained out, no longer extended in entreaty, but frozen. “You hate it when I touch you?” he said, his voice small to his ears.

Thorin shook his head, shuddering and dazed, teetering at the edge of breakdown. “I hate it when this form touches you. It makes it all real in ways I cannot bear. Alone it is some mad figment of my mind. When you are there…” he looked up, out of the corner of his eye. “When you are with me, I imagine my life many years hence. I imagine a life with you, and a future I have not thought of for so long…. I did not expect to survive the dragon. I knew it was my doom to fall as I should have all those years ago when Erebor fell. I knew the quest would claim my life. Yet with you I dream that I may survive, and once it was a good dream. Now I see myself living, but in this skin, and you by my side and you have not abandoned me…”

“I wouldn’t!” Bilbo exclaimed.

“I know,” Thorin cried. “I _know_ and I see that future, you beside this thing I have become and I want to die. When you touch me I see it all the clearer. I cannot bear it, Bilbo, I cannot bear it.”

Bilbo’s hand sank down, his whole body feeling as it would break at the thought of Thorin dead, Thorin truly wanting to die rather than risk the end of this path. He cast about desperately, the urge to simply ignore Thorin’s wishes and seize him, dragging the larger, stronger person against his chest and just hold on was overwhelming, and he knew unwelcome. “Do you want to know what I see?” Bilbo said, soft and gentle as his shredded heart could manage.

Thorin stilled, and said nothing, but his hand eased against his face, and Bilbo saw blue eyes flicker to him in the silence, as if even in the depths of utter collapse, Thorin could not disobey.

“I see a young, dwarf prince,” Bilbo began, “shining in the sun, in his armor, with his sword at his side and his shield. I saw it so clearly in my mind when Balin told the tale of that battle, because I had already seen him. Only he was older when he came to my door, and sadder, though I did not know why. But from the very first time I saw him, I thought he was beautiful, as the stars are beautiful. Remote and burning and far away from anything I would ever know, or touch.” He stopped. Thorin had turned to him, with that unreadable expression he’d shown that day in Lake-town when Bilbo had vouched for his honor, only now it was mixed with trepidation, flinching as if waiting for a blow. “But I was wrong. Stars are not a very good comparison for a dwarf anyway, far too elvish. I was wrong because, even though he was still beautiful to me, more beautiful than ever, he was not remote. He was here, the whole time, and if he was untouchable it was because those around him, including me, were afraid. They saw his nobility, and his courage, and strength, and thought of him as some living statue, a hero from legend too great for the likes of any of us.” Thorin shivered, pulling further back beneath Bilbo’s hand on his knee and compulsively Bilbo squeezed it, holding him in place. “And he is, but that is only the smallest part of him, Thorin. Yet he thinks he must keep that distance so he does not shatter their dream of him, of who he represents, for those who think that dream is all he is. But he is so much more. He is beautiful, and sad, and untouched because we were careless with him, and we did not tell him how loved he is, how cherished, how diminished we all would be by his loss.”

Bilbo looked down, wondering if he’d gone on too long, he had said all the wrong things. He licked lips gone dry and swallowed, trying again. “Thorin, you are ill right now, I understand. But if you think for one second it means I’ve forgotten who you are, who you are to me? That it takes a few scales for me not see you, that you could turn into a dragon or an orc or that anything at all could happen and I wouldn’t be able to look through and see you? Thorin, I love you. I love you too much to lose you to this, to not see you all this time, even when I close my eyes I see you, Thorin, and all you have ever been and to me that is everything. You are everything to me, Thorin, _you_ are. Sickness or no, I will always see the person I fell in love with. Please…” and here he choked, “… please don’t take him from me.”

“You say these things,” Thorin said, shaking his head as if dazed, “and I do not understand. How can you continue to care when I am… when I am this?”

“Then let me show you,” Bilbo blurted desperately. He held up his hand again, fingers trembling. “Please, come here. I’m frightened for you, Thorin, and I don’t know how to make this better. Right now I just want to hold you, and know you are here.”

“For how much longer?” Thorin whispered, not moving at all.

“If it were up to me it will be always, no matter what.”

Thorin shifted turning to Bilbo and hesitating. He watched the outstretched hand long before taking it in his own, and it was a light touch, barely there. “I would probably crush you…” he said, with as much defeat as humor.

“Just lean against me,” Bilbo said, threading his fingers through Thorin’s. “I can be strong enough for both of us, for awhile.”

Thorin eyed their entwined fingers, brow furrowing in pain at the sight and closed his eyes shaking his head. When he opened them again he looked at Bilbo, and with a sigh he shifted, easing his legs out from under him and coming to Bilbo’s outstretched hand, leaning his back against Bilbo’s chest, his head against Bilbo’s shoulder.

Bilbo immediately closed his arms around Thorin, would have trapped him if it wasn’t so laughably simple for someone as strong as Thorin to throw him off. It was warm like this, the heat of Thorin’s back banishing the chill of the room, like hugging a hot-water bottle. Were he not still so tense it may have put Bilbo to sleep, the sudden change of temperature easing him and making him drowsy. He put his chin on Thorin’s shoulder, pulling him closer and indicating Thorin should inch up against him. As he obliged, Bilbo wrapped his arms tighter around Thorin’s chest, holding him close. Dark, and still trapped and cold and stuck, but the room no longer seemed so terrible, or Thorin’s illness an inevitable doom.

“How can you stand it?” Thorin murmured, and Bilbo saw from the glow that he was looking down at the Bilbo’s arms entwined over his scaled chest.

“You are always beautiful to me,” Bilbo said, and pressed a kiss to Thorin’s neck, at the pulse point where it joined the shoulder, and felt Thorin release a soft, gusting sigh.

“I want to touch you,” said Thorin wretchedly.

Bilbo looked down, seeing the razor claws that were the focus of Thorin’s anguish clenching and unclenching, his heart sinking. No indeed, it would be too dangerous to risk bringing those close to either of them, and what was a dwarf without the use of his hands?

Bilbo pressed closer to Thorin, trailing the tip of his nose up his throat to the shell of his ear, feeling Thorin shiver beneath him as his breath trailed along the scales of his skin. “It’s all right. I can touch you. If... if you want.” Thorin’s hand tightened, spasmed on the floor and his breath sped up. Bilbo realized belatedly that it might not have intended the leap Bilbo’s mind went to, but then Thorin shuddered against him, turning his face towards Bilbo, pressing his forehead to Bilbo’s cheek. There was the smallest tremor of a nod.

The air was hot and close between them, filled with far more questions and purpose than Bilbo dared give voice to. He disentangled his hand from Thorin’s, freeing it to trail along the hard plains of Thorin’s scaled chest, feeling the slickness of the scales, tracing the weak spot above the heart where there were none. Thorin sighed, melting against him and Bilbo tilted his head down. “Does that feel good?” he murmured.

“Yes,” Thorin breathed, opening his eyes to look up at Bilbo from below. “You cannot know how good. Even before...this, it was a long time since anyone did.”

Bilbo’s heart twisted and he leaned in closer, hugging Thorin against him as his right hand trailed lazy circles over Thorin’s chest. “It feels good to me, too.”

“How?” Thorin said, his voice cracking. “How are you not disgusted? Even if it is as you say, and you think there is hope for me, should not the form alone be repulsive? How can you bear it against your skin?”

“Because I care for you, Thorin,” Bilbo said, feeling too far gone beyond the edge to care about dissembling, or anything but the bare truth that intimacy brought with it. “And what feels good to you also feels good to me. I know it seems very difficult right now, but I want someday to make you happy, and until then I hope I can at least make you feel content, and safe.”

Thorin shook his head. “I will never feel safe so long as this creature may take me unawares, so long as you are in danger from it.”

“A problem for another time,” Bilbo murmured. “Try to relax.”

“But you do that now.”

“Hmm?” Bilbo said, hypnotized by the feeling of Thorin’s skin, by the warmth around him and the soft hair against his cheek.

“Make me happy.”

Bilbo’s hand stopped, pressing flat over Thorin’s heart, feeling the strong, steady beat there, an ache welling in his chest.

“Even with all that has happened,” Thorin continued, “for all that I cannot see beyond the darkness of this place, when you are with me I am happy, Bilbo. And I have never received a greater gift.”

Bilbo swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat, and pressed a kiss to Thorin’s temple, where the silver streaks stood out against the darkness of his hair, to buy himself a moment. “Before you came into my life I was alone, Thorin,” he whispered. “I did not realize just how alone. So you have given me this gift, as well.”

“A poor one, by comparison,” Thorin said. 

“Oh hush,” Bilbo said. “Just because it took an adventure for me to realize, does not make it any less.” He paused and after a long moment added. “I love you.”

Thorin made a small noise at the back of his throat, tilting his head up and before Bilbo could make a sound his lips had captured Bilbo’s, pressing hot against him. The kiss held in it more than comfort or reassurance. It was hungry, and desperate, and burning Bilbo from the inside out. Suddenly having Thorin only in his arms was not enough, and it was not just the need to feel that he was there. He found he was tired of the uncertainty, of feeling they must always wait for some unknown time. The mountain, the sickness, the sense of doom. His right hand skirted lower down Thorin's side, stopping at his hip. His hand rest just at the waistband of Thorin’s trousers, fingers splayed between the fabric and the heated skin, testing the jut of Thorin’s hipbone. Thorin went rigid in his arms, his lips freezing against Bilbo’s. He did not so much pull away as fall back.

“You don’t… you shouldn’t…” Thorin panted. 

“I will stop if you want me to,” Bilbo said, leaning in so his nose brushed Thorin’s.

“Durin, no,” Thorin breathed. “Please, don’t stop.” He arched against Bilbo, encouraging. He closed his eyes, as if he could not bear to watch. Bilbo was tentative at first, looping one finger beneath the waistband, tracing the line from Thorin’s hip that led lower. He sucked in a breath, feeling heat, feeling the spread of the scales lower. Yet all was intact, even if the skin was rougher, the finer hairs of Thorin’s body thinned or gone entirely. Bilbo closed his eyes against the ravages of the disease, but remembered himself and opened them again quickly. Thorin was watching him, eyes trained and intent, and Bilbo felt it was a test of sorts. Words were cheap, desire in the face of the disease was the real test, and so with boldness that edged on defiance he traced lower, taking hold of his fingers forming a ring as he took hold of Thorin and found him hard. 

A whimper tore free of Thorin’s throat and his head fell back, his throat working. Bilbo stroked again and felt another shiver run through him. It was dry, and strange, but every gentle stroke caused an answering jolt through Thorin, who seemed maddened to even be touched at all. 

And Bilbo realized it was true. He did find Thorin beautiful, even like this. Though strange and dark, his form so fell and fallen, Thorin trembling on the edge of passion was the loveliest of any sights he’d seen on the journey. Bit by bit, Thorin relaxed against Bilbo’s chest, until he was close enough that Bilbo could murmur in his ear. “You are so uncertain of yourself, Thorin, but there’s no need right now. See, we can have this. You’re still you, still lovely. There is no one I want more.” As Bilbo spoke he increased the speed, light touches changing to steady pumping that made Thorin’s breathing become hoarse and ragged, until he was writhing against Bilbo, pressing against him desperately.

“ _Ah_ , Bilbo, I--,” Thorin panted as he clutched back harder, exposing his throat as his head fell back which Bilbo found with fervent lips and the nibble of his teeth against the hardened flesh. “Don’t stop, it feels, oh, it feels….”

“Good?”

“Yes,” Thorin moaned, hips shifting for more, faster, and Bilbo obliged, knowing his own arousal must be pressing into Thorin but that seemed to only make him wilder, and Thorin was reaching back behind him, hand just brushing the front of Bilbo’s trousers and the bulge there when he froze. Thorin’s clawed hands pulled away, instead clutching the stone floor, and where they went they carved deep, leaving gashes in the stone. “I want to touch you,” Thorin gasped.

Bilbo swallowed, dragging his eyes away from the claw marks in the floor, left there as if it were no harder than butter, instead crooning in Thorin’s ear, “This time let me. We will have plenty of chances together, Thorin, you’ll see. For now, just enjoy it.”

Thorin loosed a ragged sigh, skepticism mixed with a bone-deep hurt but his breath was too fast to be thinking clearly and pre-cum was leaking from the tip, which Bilbo slicked down his length, tracing Thorin’s inner thigh with the tips of his fingers as he did so and making him gasp and shudder. “I want you,” Thorin moaned, “I want to… _ah_ , I want to have you. I will beg if I must, I will go on my knees to have you however you will have me, let me touch you, and taste you, and…”

Bilbo kissed him, hard. “And you will have me in return, any which way you like, I promise, because if you think is the last time we will do this you are sadly mistaken.”

“But it is,” Thorin said, jaw clenching as his expression crumpled. “This time, or the next. This is—ah—already more than anything I dared…”

Bilbo stopped, and the cut-off growl of frustration was all he needed to know he had Thorin’s attention. “This is not a send-off, Thorin. Goodness knows I have more respect for both of us.”

Thorin blinked at him, eyes narrowing as he tried to understand. 

Bilbo sighed. “Even if it were the last time, which I assure you it is not, I would never send you off with just my hand." He offered a grin, this one wicked. “Here, lie back. If you think this is the last time, I’ll clout you over the ear, but I can certainly do better than this.”

“Bilbo…”

“Now, Thorin, or so help me I will leave you to your own devices, and we will discover first hand if those claws are safe near your delicate bits.”

The scales made many expressions unreadable on Thorin’s face, but Bilbo thought with some satisfaction that Thorin would have gone pale as he scrambled upright. As he did, Bilbo shucked his coat, laying it out on the ground and beckoning Thorin to lie back on it. It was hard to see in the darkness, but for the first time he saw a glimpse of Thorin’s body below the waist. It was not much different than the rest of him, the muscles of his thighs and calves broader and more pronounced, bulging strangely beneath the thick black scales. The most alarming was his knees, and ankles. Some alchemy of the transformation went on there, hidden from view by the black trousers. It looked painful, it looked… final. 

How they would take him back from that, Bilbo did not know and he swallowed, forcing his gaze up to Thorin’s cock. There was a pattern there, but it seemed only a thin covering, like a strange scar pattern over Thorin’s skin. The hair was largely gone from his body, and it reminded Bilbo that it was only the thickness of the hair on Thorin’s head that hid the loss there from view. It was still his Thorin, but indeed, who knew for how much longer?

Bilbo banished such thoughts from his head, crouching down between Thorin’s outstretched legs. His thighs shifted, welcoming Bilbo in, and his chest rose and fell with deep, shuddering gasps. How lovely he would be with his own form back, the flush of arousal burnishing the pale skin… but no, Bilbo would not consider such thoughts. He said he would accept Thorin as he was, however he was, and he would not take back those words. 

He lowered his mouth, and Thorin’s head fell back with a whimpering groan. His hips working once, thrusting up into Bilbo’s mouth before he stilled it viciously, lying so still that Bilbo worried he was hurting himself. Still, it made it easier to take Thorin deep, closing his hand around the base where his mouth could not comfortably reach, working it in the same rhythm as his mouth. Thorin’s hands splayed out to either side of him, grasping at the stone floor with little _shick, shick_ noises as the claws bit deep, leaving deep scratches that Bilbo immediately blocked from his sight. 

Instead his eyelashes fluttered open and he took in the whole scene. In the dim half-light it was easy to see the world in different colors, Thorin healthy and flushed, the muscles of his abdomen twitching as he struggled to control himself and his brow furrowed, mouth dropping open with each harsh pant. His heels dug into the ground, bracing himself, his head lazing from side to side as a string of whispered pleas broke his lips. _Bilbo please, yes, oh please, oh please…_ an outpouring of Bilbo’s name, and pleas to _don’t stop, don’t_. 

When Bilbo braced himself, swallowing down as far as he could go and slowly licking a trail up, Thorin gave a wrecked cry, shuddering head to toe. He shivered and gasped, tossing a forearm over his eyes, his back arching though his hips remained still. Bilbo opened his eyes, in between motions just trying to enjoy the sight. Thorin was passionate in all things, in battle, and in leadership, and in his despair, and now in pleasure. There was no distance between them now, he could feel each tremor as it raced through Thorin in response to each lick and suckle. 

His own cock was growing harder with every taste, with every twitch of Thorin against him as he gave wrecked cries and panting moans, that lovely voice reduced to breathiness as he, Bilbo, drove him wild. 

Thorin’s cock pulsed, twitching movements in his hips telling Bilbo more, faster and he did. Thorin came apart with a gasp, eyelids fluttering, mouth gasping for air as his pleasure peaked, back arching, cock pulsing through its completion. Bilbo swallowed it, too driven by his own desire to think of doing aught else, listening to those gasping moans. 

Thorin lay back when it was done, body loose and relaxed, head lolling and he pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, dragging it down his face as he shivered in the aftermath. The brush of Bilbo’s hand against his inner thigh as he pushed himself up made Thorin start, but Bilbo put out a soothing hand, stroking along Thorin’s skin with gentle, smooth strokes.

“Well, I hope that was a little better than where we started,” Bilbo said, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. His cock was hard and heavy between his legs, the sight and sound of Thorin leaving him flushed and wanting. For a moment he felt the dizzy disconnect with which he viewed all such intimacy with Thorin. Even thinking his _name_ was a heady rush when including the thought that Thorin was beneath his hand, had come for him, was wrecked and panting because of him, this distant leader he had once only thought to see from afar, nevermind touch. 

But his Thorin was real, not some distant legend or symbol. 

“Mmm,” Thorin hummed, a muzzy, dazed sound, as he covered his eyes with his forearm and heaved deep gasps as the aftershocks raced along his skin in little shivers. The coat was spread out beneath him, not large enough to keep either of them fully off the floor, but there was a little space in the crook of Thorin’s arm that was just hobbit-sized. Bilbo took it gladly, flopping down as much as the stone would allow and curling up next to the welcome heat of Thorin’s skin.

Thorin stilled beneath him, turning to look at Bilbo with wide, uncertain eyes. His arm stiffened beneath Bilbo, became rigid, as Bilbo settled against him. 

“Is there anything I can…?” Thorin murmured, but Bilbo could already hear that his tone ended in despair, in the expectation that without the safe use of his hands there was nothing he could do to reciprocate, and Bilbo was prepared.

“Actually…. There may be,” Bilbo said, eyelids fluttering as he reached down and palmed himself, starting with gentle strokes that made his stomach tighten with need, his back arch minutely as he breathed a sigh. He saw Thorin’s look become hungry, but still there was that distance, as he held himself back. “Speak.”

“What?” Thorin said, frowning. If Bilbo had an ounce of extra energy, he may have spared it to be embarrassed, but as it was this pulse within him was growing hotter, and the memory of Thorin writhing and bucking beneath him was still close. 

Bilbo made a little whimper at the back of his throat, picking up his speed. “Your voice. That night when you sang, I dreamt… and couldn’t bear the thought of never hearing it again. You have the most lovely voice, Thorin. Speak to me.”

Thorin’s brow furrowed, and he seemed prepared to ask for further explanation, when a thought occurred to him. Instead he turned over so that his lips brush Bilbo’s ear, tickling and teasing. His nose and forehead were pressed against Bilbo. “What you just did for me? Bilbo there are no words for it. I have never felt such bliss save by your touch. I thought to never deserve, to never have it ag—” Something must have twisted in Bilbo’s face, and his hand had stilled, because Thorin cleared his throat, starting again. “There is so much I wish to do to you.”

“Yes,” Bilbo hissed, pressing his face closer even as he began to stroke again. He closed his eyes, listening as the deep, sensual rumble of Thorin’s voice brought an answering twitch in his cock, sent him teetering towards the edge as he imagined each scenario playing out behind his eyelids. 

“I wish to tend to you as you did me. To take my time with you. You know that my people can last… hours, if necessary. I could see to your pleasure twice before needing anything of my own.”

“Are you so sure of that?” Bilbo said with a smirk, cracking open an eye.

Thorin huffed a laugh. “With you, I can be sure of nothing. Hmm, but only consider to only start I would take you in my mouth, and give you that pleasure you bestowed upon me. But more than that,” he paused, pressing a kiss against the pulse point at Bilbo’s throat, drawing a gasp as Bilbo’s hand worked, “I want you to take me.”

Bilbo’s gasp became a strangled moan, and he scrunched his eyes tighter, back arching at the image. “I have not yet decided how I want it. If I wish to face you the first time, on my back and gazing up at you, watching your expression crumple as you come, to see you flushed and fair above me, owning…” Thorin paused, and Bilbo almost did not hear him continue over the sound of his own panting. “Or perhaps behind me? More comfortable, and this time we need not be _gentle_.” The last came out a growl and Bilbo could make no claim at dignity for the sound that came out at the thought, a strangled, wrenching moan. His eyelids fluttered just enough to see Thorin pull away a little, to see a wicked, playful flash of teeth. Even with all that had changed, Thorin was still beautiful and Bilbo could not help but stare, lips parting as he lost control of his body to the oncoming climax, so close now for having witnessed Thorin’s. 

“I have seen your fierceness, I have…thought of it turned to other purpose,” Thorin said, with a hitch in his breath as he spoke. “Your fingers digging into my hips, and your lips upon my back and shoulders as you take me. I want to hear the sounds you make, I want to come with the feeling of you inside me. Can you imagine that? The hot shudder, the movements I would not be able to contain as I pushed back against you, striving for more as I find my peak with you?”

Bilbo could imagine it very well, that shiver that had gone through Thorin’s body as he came just moments before, the deep moans shading to higher-pitch whimpers and he could not suppress one of his own, biting down on his knuckles as his hand worked frantically. 

“Have you thought of how good it will feel, when you come as well? That heat, the tightness of it,” Thorin continued. He paused, licking his lips and inclined his head close again, dusting kisses along Bilbo’s jawline, speaking the words against his skin. “To be inside the one you once thought so distant? He is here, beneath you, wanting you. I am wanting you, Bilbo. Wanting nothing else than you, the feel of you, the touch and taste…”

It was too much, altogether too much. He could see it so clearly, the memory of their first time and Thorin’s sweat-streaked back beneath him, rolling his hips back to meet each of Bilbo’s thrusts. That lovely voice turned to giving sounds of pleasure with each moan and breath. Most of all wanting him, and that _he wants me, he wants me to take him and I want…_

Bilbo came with a wrenching gasp, pressing his face to the crook of Thorin’s shoulder as his whole body tightened and he spilled into his hand. The pleasure came in waves, until he was left panting and shivering against Thorin, opening his eyes to just gaze upon him in wonder, mouth dry. “You’re beautiful,” he said muzzily, his orgasm-addled mind unable to summon anymore eloquence. “Beautiful, just… oh…” 

Thorin was still above him for a long moment, then leaned in pressing a kiss to Bilbo’s cheek, except Bilbo turned his head, catching Thorin’s lips instead. He sucked at Thorin’s lower lip, and wasted no time running his tongue over the outside of his lips before pressing it inside, his clean hand reaching up to cup Thorin’s face and draw him closer. Thorin may resist his praise as much as he will, but he could not deny what Bilbo could show him without words, he thought as he poured all the heat and desire and need he felt for Thorin, now as much as ever. 

Their noses bumped, and Thorin was pressing Bilbo back against the floor. He slid his arm partially free, planting the other hand on the other side of Bilbo, well away, and adding new insistence to the kiss, his tongue and teeth. Bilbo’s hand fists in the hair of Thorin’s temple, then opens again so he is combing it back, breathing him in and running blunt nails along Thorin’s scalp, down his neck to his shoulders. Even the strangeness no longer gave him pause, if he brushed the spiny ridge he does not pay it any mind. He pulled away, gazing on Thorin, the way his chest heaved with each breath and he stared in wonder at Bilbo. 

“You really believe it,” Thorin said, brow furrowing. “You really find this form desirable.”

“Not the form. You, as I said,” Bilbo said, pressing another peck to Thorin’s lips, though they had lost all their natural softness. “In case you had not noticed, you are rather extraordinary, and have quite an effect on me. Must I repeat myself again, or are demonstrations more to your liking?” This at least earned him a smile, and Bilbo laughed under his breath, before another thought occurred to him. “That said, the cleanup will be difficult, I’m not sure I thought this through,” he said, only to experience a powerful sense of déjà vu to a certain missing handkerchief at the sound of ripping cloth. 

“Here,” Thorin says, handing him such a sizable chunk of fabric that it caused Bilbo to squeak in alarm. 

“Where did you get this?” Bilbo says, imagining the now a patch missing from his coat. He did not see it, but thought Thorin must have shrugged. 

“My pant leg, near the end, just as I did before. If you can stand the sight of my ankles then it seemed the least we might sacrifice.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to protest, but found he could manage none, and instead only sighed and set about cleaning the mess, lovely as it had been to make. Thoughts of a bath were itching up to his skin again but he once more set them aside. Once finished he tossed it aside to a corner far from them, and snuggled up close to Thorin once more. 

“Rest a bit,” Thorin murmured into Bilbo’s curls as they lay side by side. “It will help you keep your strength. The wizard may find us yet.”

That very nearly woke Bilbo entirely from said rest. “Not an hour ago you despised the very thought of Gandalf’s aid.”

“Indeed, but he found us in the Goblin Tunnels, though there might have been a thousand caverns where we may have fallen, and before that with those trolls. I do not have to like him, I need only to get you free.”

“Thorin,” Bilbo began, for there it was again, that subtle undertone that Thorin did not expect to walk free of this though Bilbo knew he could.

“Hush,” Thorin said, pressing another kiss to his hair. “There is little use in arguing over it. We will continue to seek our own solution again soon.”

Bilbo returned the kiss and wrapped his arms around Thorin’s middle for good measure, feeling as he did so that he was reassuring himself, as if Thorin may vanish if he was not held. Then with a sigh he settled back onto the spread coat, uncomfortable as the stone beneath it was, and beckoned Thorin to lay down against him. “Here, turn over, so I can hold you.”

Even in the dark he could feel Thorin hesitate. “You are certain?”

“More than anything, now budge over,” Bilbo said. Exhaustion was sweeping through him, but thankfully his certainty seemed to put Thorin at ease and he put up no further protest but lay down beside Bilbo, facing away.

Bilbo snuggled up around Thorin, putting his shirt back on only for the warmth it provided, but letting it open and bunch so that in places they were skin to skin. The ridges down Thorin’s back were a problem, but it was a far greater threat to allow Thorin to face or hold him, with those long claws that could so easily open a vein while they slept. Pressing to one side as he held Thorin close was good enough though, the spines only a minor discomfort. Hunger was waiting, and thirst, but sleep dulled those needs and now he found he did not care to fret over the need for escape, if it meant having Thorin warm and drowsy, pressed against him with some modicum of peace. 

Thorin’s breathing was deep, and even, his chest rising and falling beneath Bilbo’s hand. There was no light in the room with Thorin’s eyes closed, and so Bilbo made do with simply feeling him, and giving in to his own lethargy. He closed his eyes, lulled to his rest by the smell of Thorin’s hair, the heat of his skin, and the reassurance of his breathing. 

* * *

He must have slept then, but awoke at the feeling of cold, and when he looked up Thorin was standing, blue eyes glimmering as he looked to the door. His form was cast in sharp relief against the hazy glow, chest and shoulders broad and there was something… odd, about his movements. Strange and powerful, with none of the hesitance and unease with which Thorin had carried himself of late.

Something was terribly, terribly wrong. 

Bilbo moved quietly, one hand slipping beneath him to leverage himself up, feeling for the little ring in his pocket. A feeling crawled up his spine, like a scream welling up from his belly, but too overwhelmed by fright to break his lips. Thorin turned, and looked at him. 

“Hello, burglar,” the dragon said. 

Bilbo froze. A tiny whimper broke out, quickly muffled, his fingers clenching at his side and then he was on his feet, stumbling back and standing across from the creature. 

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” it crooned, turning to face him. Thorin had put his trousers back on before he slept, and Bilbo was clothed as well though his shirt was untucked and he had left the mithril shirt beside the bed he’d made of his coat. He swallowed, looking to it and back. 

“Go ahead, if you wish,” the dragon said, cocking its head towards the shirt. “Put it on, I’ll not stop you. I have no intention of hurting you just yet, Halfing.”

Bilbo did not wait, scuttling to snatch up the shirt and toss it over his head, much good it would do him. Yet he relaxed immediately to feel its light weight settle over his shoulder, though when he looked through the links he saw the dragon in Thorin’s body was watching him. There was no mistaking it for Thorin, not with that gait, that predatory gleam and the slinking motions with which it walked. 

He straightened as he faced it, drawing himself taller. “What are you doing here?”

“Hmm, I cannot say I have decided yet,” the dragon said. “But I imagine… whatever I like.” A chill raced through Bilbo and he felt around him the darkness, the enclosed space, and the heat roiling off this creature that seemed to stalk him without even moving. “There is very little you can do to stop me, after all.” Bilbo did not realize he was backing away until he felt the cold stone of the wall pressing against his back, though the creature had not moved. It cocked its head at him, and an irrepressible memory arose, of Smaug. “You cannot flee. There is nowhere to go. Sit, burglar. I think I would like to talk to you.”

Bilbo stilled, and saw the dragon eying him. There was nowhere to go, but still he remained frozen, out of the reach of those claws.

“Halfling,” the dragon’s voice cracked. “Sit.”

There was something of Thorin’s voice in that, when he snapped commands to search for the Arkenstone. It was enough of him that Bilbo was swayed. Not for him, no he could never mistake this creature for Thorin, but still he approached because there was no other choice, and took a seat on his coat, glaring up at the creature. It gave him a frank look back, and sat down beside him. Uncomfortably close, Bilbo could feel the heat radiating off its skin. It settled back, almost lazy, bracing itself on one clawed hand that bit deep into the stone as he idly regarded Bilbo. 

“So, you are the one that has so obsessed him,” it pronounced. “The only reason he fights me off, again and again. You do not seem to be so very much.” It looked Bilbo over, turning its head to see either side of him, before refocusing. “But it would be foolish to underestimate you. I wonder what he sees?” Bilbo swallowed, his heart giving a sickening little lurch where once it might have lept, at the thought that he gave a reason for Thorin to fight this thing. Little good it did him now, or Thorin, if Bilbo ever saw him again. 

“Tell me, Halfling,” the dragon said with Thorin’s lips, moving the muscles of Thorin’s face, the motions he made with Thorin’s body sinuous, his neck moving so he was staring at Bilbo out of the corner of his eye. His teeth shone. “Why are you here? What do you want?”

Bilbo licked cracked, dry lips, his voice faint at first, “I want you to let him go.”

The dragon narrowed its eyes. “Try again.”

Bilbo blinked, and frowned in irritation. “What else is there to say? Let him go.”

“Ah, now, you were so much more eloquent before, burglar,” the dragon said. “Such soft words, and lovely titles. You are far harsher when you have something you think you can protect.” Bilbo gulped as it went on. “Speak to me, burglar, tell me your pretty tales. Your riddles.” 

“I—I have none,” Bilbo said, then tilted his chin up, glaring at it. “Not for you.”

“Hmm, you will riddle-play for your life but not for his? No matter,” the dragon said, and leaned closer. Bilbo felt heat like a forge radiating from the scales and flinched back. “There are other lovely things about you that do not require your tongue. Once I did not see it, but now through his eyes…with his mind…his voice…” Its voice slid, like a musician down a scale, to Thorin’s tones and Bilbo had to blink and shake his head to not hear his Thorin in its mimicry. “You want him, don’t you? Just as he desires you. If you could only see what he imagines of you…”

Bilbo swallowed, looking away. He wished he could stop his ears without tipping the creature off. He had not the slightest interest in knowing what was in Thorin’s thoughts that Thorin did not give himself, of his own free will. 

“You can be rough with him, you know. He will accept it. He _craves_ it. Imagine him beneath your fingertips, surrendered to you. You could use him as you will and he would beg you for it. You are in his thoughts, you are in his breath, I can feel your presence like a pulse within this cage with every glance he gives you. I want to know, Halfling, what that is like. What do you want of him? Do you want to take him, as much as he wishes to be taken by you?”

Bilbo did not move, only stared blankly ahead. Perhaps, if he was quiet, it would grow bored. But the dragon voice, for there was no mistaking it, paused and then gave a satisfied chuckle. “Not taken then, _rescued_. That is what wish you to do for him, is it not, to _save_ him? But he has never known such comforts, he has never been protected. He knows not even how to ask for it. Even as he understands the truth that his mind will not survive our joining, still he craves your touch, your attention, your affection, as the last thread binding him to this world. But for you, I would already have him.”

“Then I will never stop fighting you,” Bilbo hissed. “I will always be that thread. Always.”

“Hmm, even if I could tempt you with a gift of my own? Think of that power you carry with you, how you may wield it to control him after I have won, long after the pleasures of the flesh have lost their meaning. Think of what you could become. What he _will_ become. If you willed it, he would follow you as a trained hound, destroying your enemies. He would curl up beneath your hand, all that power at your beck and call. And he will love you for it, for every command you gave him. A creature of might at your beck and call, a dragon of your very own.”

“Stop it,” Bilbo whispered.

The creature only laughed. “Then you prefer the flesh? Very well, that I can give you as well, halt his changing here, now. Just look at him. Imagine him beneath you. Imagine him rocking against you, bucking harder for more, begging for it. He would be a ruin but he would be _your_ ruin, and such a one as you have never seen. Imagine him waiting in bed for you to despoil him, how he would cry out for it with that voice you love so much. _With this voice._ ” It smirked at the shudder that ran through Bilbo. _“_ He wants you. He has pushed it away, and denied himself this. He has put so much before his own wants. Those nephews of his, and the ragtag company, and the mountain. Well they are gone, and all he wants is you but he is afraid to claim you. He would rather be claimed. In all those long, lonely years he has never been claimed.He has never been allowed to be claimed, but you are the greater power than he, if you choose to be so. You could make him your slave, the one who once mocked and belittled you now panting upon your pleasure. Imagine him waiting for you. Ready. Willing.”

Bilbo closed his eyes, sealed his lips. The creature shifted beside him.

A single cold talon brushed Bilbo’s throat. “ _Or let me take you._ ”

He had no time to flinch, only to suck in a breath, recoiling from the creature’s touch when it froze and gave a cry, strangled like a shout cut off in its throat against its own will. The creature hunched, snarling under its breath as it doubled over, and Bilbo _felt_ as much as saw the shift as muscled moved beneath its skin. As that slinking form shuddered and shivered head to toe and when its head snapped up again it was not a thing at all but Thorin, his eyes wide and wild, his whole body alert. His hands closed around Bilbo’s shoulders, the claw tips hovering over the mithril links as he looked up. “Bilbo, what…?”

“Thorin?” Bilbo breathed. Those hands dug into his shoulder, but he could barely feel it. His face was inches from Thorin’s, he could feel each hot gasp and his throat closed as relief stung so sharp it ached, and tears prickled the corner of his eyes. “Thorin, is it gone? Are you alright?” 

“What is happening?” Thorin groaned, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, the breath hissing between them. With a moan gasp, he tugged Bilbo close, lips stopping only inches away from his. Then Thorin caught his own lower lip in white teeth, eyes flying open as he stared at Bilbo. “The dragon… it was here. It’s still here. Bilbo. It’s…it’s still in my mind. I can feel it how... it wanted to hurt you. I can’t, I won’t… I pushed it back, but it— _ah_ —it’s still there,” Thorin said, his voice a painful grate. He winced, and in a spasming motion drew them closer, pressing his forehead to Bilbo’s. His breath was panting and his skin burned as if with fever. “Bilbo, I don’t… I don’t understand what’s happening. It’s burning me from the inside.” Thorin flinched, then with a whole-body shudder, he released Bilbo, doubling over.

Thorin screamed. 

His hands scrambled at his head, shaking it, rocking as those panting breaths turned to bellowing gasps. He looked at Bilbo out of the corner of his eye, with such a depth of horror that were it not for the fear Bilbo would have recoiled. Instead he was at Thorin’s side like a shot, hands flying to Thorin’s wrists to pull those claws away from where they clenched in his hair. 

“Thorin! Thorin, talk to me, tell me what is going on,” Bilbo exclaimed, tugging at Thorin’s wrists, but they would not budge. His whole body was clenched, the muscles tense and hard as stone. He shook his head, back and forth like a maddened animal. 

“I think… I think I can stop it,” Thorin gasped. Bit by bit, the tension eased, but only just. His body seized with it, but he had at least enough control to nod. Pride at Thorin’s strength, and desperate love were battling with the fear inside him, and he could not stop himself from brushing the back of his hand down Thorin’s cheek. Thorin turned into the motion, eyelids fluttering, but his gaze did not otherwise waver from Bilbo. 

“What did it do to you?” Thorin croaked, looking exhausted and worn out as he battled inch by inch to reclaim his own body. His skin was fevered beneath Bilbo’s hand and he could feel the tiny shivers that wracked the dwarf. 

“Nothing, it did nothing. I’m fine,” Bilbo said in a rush, eyes searching Thorin’s face. “What is it doing to you? What do you need?” Thorin shivered harder, pulling away but Bilbo’s hand followed the movement, brushing back through the silver at Thorin’s temple, stroking his hair and pulling him close. “Tell me.”

“It wants you,” Thorin murmured, sounding strained. “It knows I want you, and it’s trying to use that to make me force you. Bilbo, you need to get away, as far as you can.”

“Oh _hang_ that,” Bilbo swore with enough ferocity to make Thorin blink. He surged forward, catching Thorin’s lips with his, digging in with his teeth, and he could taste rage on his own tongue, felt Thorin’s surprised intake of breath. When Bilbo pulled away to speak his voice was low and savage. “It will not have this. Do you understand me, Thorin? This is _ours_ , and that thing will have no part of it.”

Thorin was looking at him, eyes widened and seeming to have a shine utterly independent of the cursed glow. His lips were slightly parted, and he tilted his head as he looked up at Bilbo, his chest rising and falling in a faint pant, his skin hot enough that Bilbo could feel it radiating. 

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” Bilbo said. 

“No. I want this. It wouldn’t… ah… it wouldn’t have such p-power if I did not.”

“Good,” Bilbo said with finality. He leaned in, seizing Thorin’s lips with his but not lingering there, but immediately nipping and sucking downward. Down his throat and chest, stopping to taste each nipple, and for a moment he paused too at the soft, exposed area above Thorin’s heart. Thorin shivered as Bilbo’s breath ghosted across, then he nuzzled closer, tasting Thorin’s heartbeat, hearing it as he pressed his cheek close there was a moment there, a lingering second of intimacy with his cheek pressed to Thorin’s heart before he was moving downward again. He stopped again finally at Thorin’s hip, and the line that guided downward to his crotch. 

“I’m going to suck you now,” Bilbo said, and heard Thorin’s low moan. Still he cast a look up, even as his breath gusted against Thorin’s skin and his nose trailed along the waistband of his trousers. 

“That’s what it wanted,” Thorin stuttered, but did not pull away. Bilbo shook his head. 

“No, that’s what it wanted for itself. This is for you, Thorin,” Bilbo said, looking up. Thorin’s eyes were blue, the glow faint as it had ever been but still enough to see by. “It is only ever for you. I will stop if you want me to.”

For a moment there was only silence, and Thorin’s harsh panting. Or perhaps it was his own. 

“Don’t stop,” Thorin said. Invitation granted, Bilbo finally hooked a finger through Thorin’s trousers, dragging them low, where Thorin was already twitching and hard. It looked painful, straining, and Bilbo could all too easily imagine that creature driving Thorin to this, pushing his body even while he slept to the very edge of mad desire, and leaving him there for Bilbo to pick up the pieces. He did not think further, but gently cupped the base as he swallowed Thorin down. 

Thorin’s cock was heavy and hot on his tongue and Bilbo breathed in rapturously, taking it deep. He heard the cracked shout above him, felt the movement of Thorin’s hips as his head cracked back against the wall, tossing from side to side.

“ _Oh yes, Bilbo, yesyesyes, oh_ …”

The sound alone made him preposterously hard, and Bilbo lost himself in it, listening to Thorin’s moans and shuddering gasps. The muscles of Thorin’s abdomen moved, trembled with the slight rocking motion of his hips as he set a pace into Bilbo’s mouth that Bilbo gladly matched. Any hesitation within him burned away in the need of it, and perhaps a bit of the dragon’s madness had infected him as well, because his skin burned as if he were the one being sucked. Bilbo moaned at the back of his throat, and at the sound he tasted a welling of pre-come from Thorin on his tongue, sucking it down greedily. 

“ _Love you, love you, oh…I’m so…ah, Bilbo, want you, want to fuck you, want you to… ah… do that. Harder._ ”

Bilbo reached up, grabbing Thorin’s ass with both hands, digging his short nails in until he felt them digging in to the skin, heard Thorin’s whimpering cry as his breathing became faster, frantic. Thorin surrounded him, his strong thighs enclosed Bilbo, the smell and taste of him all around him. He ground his cock into the hard floor, his body seeking friction. The sight above him, of Thorin’s head tilted back, his throat working as his back arched and body trembled, his legs falling wider as if to invite Bilbo in, and as the last careful tension fled. Bilbo took the opportunity to swallow him deep, bracing himself and relaxing so that his nose nearly brushed Thorin’s belly. 

The broken gasps turned to a garbled whine, breaking higher as fresh tremors wracked Thorin. If only he had oil he would finger Thorin, then fuck him into the ground, or against the wall and drag those needy, desperate sounds out of him until he was senseless, until he had no strength or thought to spare for anything besides his own pleasure. He sucked harder at the thought, tasting salt and heat as Thorin’s whines broke off, became muffled and Bilbo looked up to see Thorin’s teeth digging into his lower lip, eyes hooded as he looked down at Bilbo. 

He was lovely, form dark with shadows and face tormented with desperate need, and Bilbo had never seen such a beautiful sight in his life. Love scorched him, made stronger, sharper, and madder for his hatred of the creature that tried to steal and subvert Thorin, the knowledge it was lingering somewhere beneath the skin. Perhaps it laughed to know what they did and oh that thought made Bilbo truly furious, swallowing Thorin deep again and damn any pain to his jaw as he worked, because Thorin was beautiful beneath him, beautiful and his and his alone, and nothing would change that. The very thought the creature had tried, had dared try to turn this against them made his blood burn. 

He felt the pulse with a surge of fierce pleasure, heard Thorin’s deep, gasping breaths turned to whimpering cries, a string of whispered endearments turned to moans.

Thorin’s words collapsed into a strangled, helpless cry as he came, fingers clutching at the floor and the room plunging to darkness as his eyes shut. Bilbo felt the surge, tasting seed and taking it all, feeling his own pleasure peak as the sound of Thorin coming was better than any amount of friction and his own whimpers were muffled by Thorin’s cock in his mouth, and even that thought was taking him swiftly the rest of the way to his own climax. He was loathe to let it end even as Thorin’s cock began to soften and he sagged against the wall, boneless and panting. 

“Bilbo, let me…” Thorin huffed, stroking the back of his hand gently against Bilbo’s back, and only then did Bilbo relinquish him. He drew his hands away, surreptitiously flexing life back into his fingers as he pushed himself up, and Thorin gusted a sigh to be released. 

Still not fully mastering himself, Bilbo sagged, shaking his head and held up a hand to Thorin. “No need,” he said with a faint chuckle. “I’m afraid that was quite enough for me.” Certainly it hadn’t been in the plan and he cast about for the cloth to dry himself, finding it thankfully not far away and doing his best to use the moment of his muzzily clearing thoughts to dry himself.

“Only that?” Thorin said, and there was answering amusement beneath the breathiness but something deeper still, surprise and maybe wonder. 

“Thorin you make me…” Bilbo stopped, tasting the word, “… preposterously hard. Just listening to you, feeling you,” he leaned forward and did not need to go far before Thorin met him in the middle, kisses gentle and soft, mingled with the aftertaste of Thorin’s seed, “the taste of you…”

Thorin gave a soft moan of agreement, nibbling at Bilbo’s lower lip then reaching out to draw him close. He kept his hands above the mithril shirt, and Bilbo knelt before him, Thorin’s hands on his back as he reached up to cup Thorin’s face, feeling the patches of beard beneath his hand as they kissed. He sighed as they broke apart again, nuzzling against Thorin’s face. The fire had died as had the desperate, frantic fear and anger with it.

“Is it gone now?” Bilbo whispered once he dared, pressing his forehead to Thorin’s and feeling the skin there, cool as it had ever been for as long as the illness had been there. 

“For the moment,” Thorin murmured back. “I think it is… angry. No, frustrated. Its hatred for you runs deep. Bilbo, you must be very careful.”

Bilbo snorted, post-coital glow giving him vim and vigor that his sober self may have checked. “Let it hate me. I have no need to make friends with a witless worm.”

They lay there in the oppressive silence, breath loud in their ears, the smell of sex on their skin when Thorin snorted a laugh. Bilbo looked up, aghast, and saw Thorin doubled over, his shoulders shaking and the unmistakable sound of laughter burbling between his lips.

“Oh no, you’ve finally gone mad,” Bilbo said glumly. 

Thorin gave what could not have possibly been a giggle, shaking his head and waving a hand at Bilbo, finally bursting out in a wheezing voice, “At least tell me you found him enticing?”

Bilbo gaped. “You really want to know if I was aroused by that creature?”

Thorin shrugged between chuckles, “It is my body after all. Surely it wasn’t a hopeless cause?”

Bilbo froze, torn with uncertainty, but at Thorin’s ongoing laughter allowed his shoulders to ease and a little laugh of his own to escape. “He was certainly a smooth talker, I will give you that. It’s how I knew it wasn’t you.”

“I could be a smooth talker too, if that is what you like,” Thorin insisted, and when Bilbo looked over his arms were curled around his knees and he’d tilted his head to face Bilbo, grinning. 

Bilbo scoffed. “Oh, I’m very sure of that.”

“You yourself said you followed me across the world for a song. Did I not show you that my voice can be equally… alluring?” Thorin said, the last word in such a ridiculous _croon_ that Bilbo gave up and collapsed, laughing with equal hysterics. When he finally calmed his cheeks were aching and he managed in a sniffing, affronted tone, “Well, his was not nearly so nice. I would take your songs over his riddles any day.”

“There is that, at least,” Thorin said, his laughter finally dying down. That frizzy, hysterical feeling was fading with the laughter, the sweat cooling on their bodies, the feeling of danger passed but who knew for how long. Bilbo could all but feel it as the darkness pressed in around them once more, not long to be banished by something so fleeting and whimsical as laughter. 

He saw the moment it fell upon Thorin, the realization of how close it had been, how trapped they still were, and he needed no speech to see the shift as Thorin looked away from him, as if he could not bear the sight. His gaze fell on the stubbornly closed door, with the knowledge that the beast was only banished until Thorin slept again, and who knew how soon until it could take Thorin whenever it pleased, for with each possession it held sway longer than the last. 

Bilbo was already reaching out, catching Thorin around the shoulders and drawing him close when that proud form bowed. Thorin slid back into his arms, shaking with muffled sobs, the kind that come when we do not wish to be seen weeping, but have no power to stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise we do not leave them here to languish. The next chapter takes place in the Epilogue, where these two finally get some peace and rest.
> 
> If you can't tell, this chapter was a bear to write, so any comments would be much appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Remember to check out my ["Lips that would kiss" tag](http://avelera.tumblr.com/tagged/lips-that-would-kiss) on Tumblr for my posts about the fic, or just come by the blog to cry about Bagginshield with me.
> 
> If you would like an alert for when I publish original novels and short stories, you can sign up [here](http://eepurl.com/dnzuV1).
> 
> Thank you for reading! Hours of work went into this fic and it would mean ever so much to me to hear what you think so far. Even the smallest comment can change the course of this author's day <3


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